Third Chance
by ProfessorPedant
Summary: Worm AU - Bryan Carpenter died when he jumped overboard into the freezing waters of Brockton Bay. He was given a second chance at life when he triggered as Browbeat. Dying again in the waters of the Bay under the crushing claw of Leviathan, a second trigger gives him another shot at life. What will he do with this third chance? Set mostly during the Timeskip. [On Hiatus]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

May 15, 2011

_Leviathan caught Hookwolf around the middle with his tail, flecks of blood and flesh spraying from the tail as it circled Hookwolf's body of skirring, whisking blades. Leviathan hurled Hookwolf away._

_Browbeat saw an opening, stepped in to pound Leviathan in the stomach, strike him in the knee Armsmaster had injured. Leviathan, arms caught by Parian's octopus and goat, raised one foot, caught Browbeat around the throat with his clawed toes, and then stomped down sharply._

Browbeat deceased, BW-8.

# # # # #

Time passed.

Floating weightless I dreamt. Throughout the dreams I could almost make out what the voice in my mind was saying.

_ "How familiar are you with schizophrenia?" Dr. Cohen asked. He was talking with my mother in his office while I sat in the waiting room. I don't think they realized the door was still open and I could hear their conversation._

_"If I recall correctly it is a catchall term given for a number of related conditions caused by various chemical imbalances and irregularities int the brain." My mother's reply carried the certainty that was inherent in any matter of medical knowledge, even though as a podiatrist, her work was as far from the internal intricacies of the brain as one could find on the human body._

_Dr. Cohen's voice was silent for a moment. I could easily imagine him tugging at his earlobe as he decided how to respond to her either incorrect or at least incomplete answer. I had noticed the gesture frequently during our sessions. I often looked for those sorts of tells to better understand social interaction. "That is a workable definition for now, though there are believed to be various environmental factors at work as well. I can recommend some more in-depth works for your later reading if you would like. One of the important factors is that the condition usually does not manifest fully until early adulthood. But certain behavioral and affective changes may occur as precursor symptom in the teen years …"_

Light and darkness cycled. Actual memories blended with aquatic tableaus.

_"What are you looking at, loser?" Sonia sneered as she bumped me from behind. I was leaning against the railing. If my sister had been bigger, I might have thought it an attempt to throw me overboard. I don't think her antipathy for me had reached that point yet, but it had been growing as my popularity at school waned. She constantly complained that my odd behavior was starting to hurt her social status, something she could not afford in her senior year._

_I ignored her, which was a bit of a challenge given the conditions. We had launched from Cape George and were "touring the Bay" as my father liked to put it. All my family were there, except Scott, who was in his last year at UMASS, along with one of my father's colleagues from Medhall and her family. I could not be bothered to learn their names, but they did make the boat a little crowded._

_Looking over the railing at the Boardwalk in the distance, I started to wonder if I could make the swim there if I should be pushed off the boat. Estimating the distance at a couple of miles, I decided I could. I had been a competitive swimmer in middle school and high school, only leaving the team my sophomore year. I still swam in the back-yard pool whenever the weather allowed. I just could not be bothered to "represent" Arcadia._

_"I think I can do it," I said aloud. "Now to test the hypothesis."_

_"What?" my sister, who was still standing next to me. She reached out as I vaulted over the railing._

_Her cry of "No!" was the last thing I heard as the frigid water closed over my head …_

Dream imagery mixed with memories swirled in my mind as my body intermixed with schools of colorful fish flowing in undersea currents.

_"It doesn't really matter if you like it," my father stated. "It's best for you to be in the Wards. You are the one that decided to become a hero…"_

_"It was the most efficient way to analyze my abilities," I interrupted. "These powers are combat oriented, so seeking out various combatants allows me to further explore the intricacies …"_

_"And you can do that safely in the Wards ..." he interrupted in return._

_"But the restrictions the PRT places on us …"_

_"Are necessary and good …"_

_"The mandatory PR events and public appearances …"_

_"Are necessary to ensure public support …"_

_"They make me do 'team building' exercises with the other Wards …"_

_"You're a team!"_

Cries of agony and scenes of horrific carnage filled my mind.

_"But you should know your chances going in," Legend said, his voice earnest, "Given the statistics from our previous encounters with this beast, a 'good day' still means that one in four of the people in this room will probably be dead before this day is done …."_

_I stopped listening. While statistically accurate, I doubted stressing the lethal realities would be conducive to more effective combat, though it would be interesting to see if there was a way to test that._

_" … If you are confident you can take a hit from Leviathan and get up afterwards, or if you have the ability to produce expendable combatants, we need you on the front line! You will be directed by Alexandria and Dragon!"_

_That piqued my interest. I had never really been able to test the upper limits of my strength and full durability in combat situations. I had always had to hold back for fear of crippling or killing my opponents. This was stressed by the Wards trainers and PR flacks. I could test my full capabilities against the Endbringer without fear of social or legal consequences._

_I stepped forward._

Colors and sounds, scents and vibrations, fields and points; new sensory stimuli presented the world in new ways.

Floating and flowing ever onward, I dreamt and remembered.

# # # # #

July 15, 2011

I finally woke washed up on a rocky shore. It was cold, both the water and the sharp wind. But I did not feel chilled. I pulled myself onto a shelf a few feet above the waterline and rolled onto my back. The cloudless night sky showed a plethora of stars, unlike anything I had seen in Brockton Bay. There was a faint sheen that shifted colors in ripples across the firmament. I closed my eyes and slept.

I woke with the sun shining weakly from its spot a third of the way up from the horizon. It felt wonderful, fulfilling a need I had not known I had. I could sense the nourishment sating my nascent hunger.

_What? _I wondered. _Since when do I eat sunlight?_

I raised up into a sitting position, looking down at my body. Two facts stood out. I was nude. And I was green. My body was formed like my pre-trigger base shape, somewhat larger and more muscular. But all the skin I could see was a grass green. As I turned my head to see more of my body, my long hair fell over my shoulder. It was also green, darker and denser somehow.

"Well, that's new." I muttered. My voice was normal, which surprised me. I expected it to be rough from disuse.

I glanced around, trying to determine where I was. Sitting nude was not a good idea in many places. In front of me was the ocean. Other than small rocks jutting out just offshore, there was no land as far as I could see. Somehow, I knew I was looking east, with the land behind me. My view of the land was blocked by the dark, wet rocks almost surrounding me. I stood to get a better look.

Pushing myself up with my hands, I found I was launched into the air. Where I stayed floating a dozen feet above the shelf on which I had slept. I turned in a slow circle. Behind me were tall, craggy mountains. Nearby was a rocky shoreline fading into a flat plain of gravel and low grass. I saw no signs of human habitation, though there were birds in the distance.

"Where am I?"

I was surprised to be flying, but I could tell it was my telekinesis holding me up. As soon as my attention turned to my powers, I could feel they had changed. They were both stronger and more comprehensive. Not long after I had gotten my powers, I had found the term _interoception_, the sense of the internal state of one's own body. That was the basis for my biokinesis. Now I could feel my insides in far greater detail than I had ever before.

With that sense I found hundreds, maybe thousands, of changes I had not made myself. The photosynthesizing skin and hair were just the most obvious. I started to lose myself in exploring those changes when I realized I had no idea what my external situation was and whether Leviathan or another threat was nearby. Forcing myself, I looked outside again.

I saw no immediate threats but did not feel comfortable being nude in an unknown situation.

I caused my skin to extrude my costume. Most people outside the PRT were not aware that I created my own costume from my body using my powers. I had practiced the change, along with bulking up my musculature, enough to make it almost instantaneous. That was the reason I did not wear armor or carry weapons. I could not create them from my body. Or I had not been able to. I felt like I could do better now. Again, I wrenched my attention to the external environment.

I flew upwards, trying to get a better view of the landscape. My eyesight was much sharper than it had been, and I felt I could zoom in like a camera with just a thought. I did not have to concentrate on the mechanics of the change anymore. As I rose, I found I could detect pockets of animal life here and there. It was some combination of movement, temperature difference, and something else I could not quite understand.

I flew towards something I was detecting in the distance to the northeast. After several minutes moving along the coast, I saw a boat in the water. I landed in the rocks and watched as it motored towards the mouth of an inlet three of four miles distant. As that was in the direction of the odd sensory stimulus, I assumed it was some sort of settlement or facility.

That meant people.

I had a sudden feeling of anxiety. Was I ready to deal with people? Especially people I did not know. I had no idea who they might be. Or how they might react to an unknown cape. I figured no one outside of the Bay would have heard of Browbeat, and not all that many in the Bay either. I had not made much of a splash in my short career.

"Maybe I should wait until night and check it stealthily. See what it is before committing myself." I hid myself deeper in the rocks where I had a good view of the inlet. As the day progressed, I saw three more boats return to the area. They were fishing boats that seemed to be trawling along the coast. "Likely they had gone out at dawn and were returning at the end of the day." The sun was sinking so it was late afternoon or evening. I felt like I was pretty far north, so the day was probably longer than I was used to.

Eventually the sun set, and I moved towards the inlet.

I had spent part of the day exploring my new body. I discovered I could still change shape, and it was easier. All I had to do was imagine what I wanted to look like, and it happened in a few minutes. This was much faster than before and required significantly less concentration. I was also able to change my outerwear, as it was just an extension of my skin. I could duplicate natural materials such as wool, cotton, silk, and leather easily. I was also able to change my skin and hair color, though I lost my ability to feed from sunlight when I switched from green to a more normal tone.

I was dressed in a body suit f black and greys as I approached the small town that lay at the end of the bay. There were several boats docked in the harbor, along with a few dozen shipping containers stacked nearby. The containers were old and rusted, a sign of the lack of seaborne commerce since the advent of Leviathan.

A few people still walked the street. Most seemed to be leaving what I assumed was the local tavern on their way home for the night. A few wandered on unknown errands. Two trucks moved slowly on the rutted gravel roads.

I ghosted around the buildings. Several carried signs in a language I did not recognize. The script was mostly like English, though there were a few unfamiliar letters that made me think of one of the Scandinavian languages. Not my specially. I only read English and Arabic, my mother's native language.

Eventually I found the local grocery store. It had a newspaper dispenser outside the door. There was a USA Today that was dated July 12th, 2011. If that date was accurate it had been almost two months since the Leviathan attack on Brockton Bay. There was what looked like a local paper as well. It was dated _15 Juuli_. I assumed the American paper was older. If that was correct it was my seventeenth birthday. The local paper was from _Nuuk_. The name did not ring any bells. I had no idea what country I was in.

I took a good look at several of the locals then headed back out of town. In the morning I would adjust myself to look like some combination of Native and European that seems to make up the local population. I also adjusted my clothes to the common thick sweater and heavy pants and boots.

An hour or so before dawn I threw myself, fully dressed into the sea. I was only vaguely surprised when I was able extract oxygen from the water through my skin and hair. When the current took me to the shore, I forced myself against the pier, making sure my scalp was split and added a nasty knot on my forehead.

The locals found my 'unconscious' body in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

July 16, 2011

I had a vague plan to try to pass myself off as a local, probably from a different town, who had lost his memory from the head wound. That fell apart when I could not understand the questions they were asking me once they pulled me all the way on shore.

The locals, fishermen from what I could tell, had called what I assumed was the local rescue team. This seemed to be made up of a policeman and a nurse or doctor. They had directed the fishermen to carry me into a building nearby. While I did not understand their words, I could deduce the meaning from the results.

Once there the medic examined me while the policeman tried to question me. When one language proved unintelligible, they tried another, then a third.

"Can you speak English?" the cop asked when the second language failed.

"Yes," I replied.

"What happened?" the medic asked. "Where are you hurt?"

I did not recognize their accent. The cadence and pronunciation were both very odd. I did not try to match it when I replied, though I did reshape my mouth a little to change my own accent. "I don't know."

"You don't know what happened?" the policeman said at the same time the medic asked, "You don't know where you're hurt?"

"Uh … my head hurts and I don't know what happened. Where am I?"

"You're in Tasiilaq," the cop replied. "We found you floating in the bay."

"You've got a minor hematoma on your head, with a scalp laceration," the medic informed me. "You might also have a concussion. Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Uh … no?" I answered.

"What?" the cop sounded surprised.

"What is your name?" the medic continued.

"I … don't know." I raised my hand to my head, feeling the bump. It hurt and I flinched. I may have taken my 'disguise' too far. I had to consciously stop my body from healing the wound.

"I didn't find any ID on you. No phone. Nothing in your pockets at all." The policeman did not sound happy. "Can you remember anything? Are you Canadian or American? When did you come to Greenland? Why did you come to Greenland? Were you on a boat? Anything?"

I looked at him, not having to dissimulate being shocked. "Greenland! How did I get to Greenland?"

"I just asked you that," he said.

"I think we need to get him to the clinic, and he can rest for a bit," the medic said to both of us. "Maybe his memories will come back. I need to keep him under observation. Concussion protocols."

"Ok …" the rest of the policeman's reply was in one of the other languages. I thought I heard 'Hans Hansen' in there but was not sure. She answered in the same language. Several minute later two more people came, put me on a stretcher and loaded me into the back of a beat-up SUV.

Shortly I was carried into a clinic with four beds in a large ward. They got me undressed. I had to force my body to shed my clothes like old skin, which was more than mildly uncomfortable.

Once they had me settled into one of the beds. curtains were drawn to offer some privacy. With a final check on my eyes and wounds, the medic left me alone. I leaned back into the pillow and closed my eyes.

_What the hell am I doing?_ I asked silently. _Why am I playing amnesiac? I may not have my Ward ID, but I can produce my Browbeat form at will. A quick internet check-in or phone call should confirm who I am, and I can get back home. _

_Greenland!_ _This could have been as simple as my walking into town either in my costume or a random face and asking to contact the PRT. I know they have it in Canada, if not in Greenland. _

_I could still do that, _I thought_. Just say I remembered I have some connection to the PRT or Protectorate. I don't have to tell them I'm a Ward, or even a cape. So why did I automatically try this stupid charade?_

I remembered something Assault had once told the Wards during one of our mentoring sessions. "Powers want to be used."

_Could it be that simple? I chose this route because it let me play with my new powers? _

I knew power theorist posited that parahumans were driven to conflict, possibly as a result of our trigger events. Since I had first triggered, I had been an exception, likely due to the altered brain chemistry from my schizophrenia. While I wanted to test and analyze my abilities, I had never seen the need for the constant contretemps my peers seemed to relish.

_Had this changed with my new powers?_ I turned my biokinesis inward to examine my brain more closely.

It was quickly apparent that someone had been tinkering up there. The chemistry was different, effectively normalized. I was no longer schizophrenic. That was something I had never been able to manage before. One potential side effect of this change was the likelihood that I no longer had my apparent immunity to the induced aggression of most capes.

There were also a lot of new structures in my head. I thought some of them might be sensory organs of various sorts, all connected to my brain. Which would explain the new sensations I was processing. Contemplating the new phenomena, I theorized that I was sensing motion, temperature, vibrations, even electricity in ways I had never been able to before. I wondered how much of this was copied or adapted from the aquatic life forms I had been in contact with while floating from New Hampshire to Greenland.

But that was not all.

After I first received my powers, I had explored my whole body. Using my mother's old anatomy texts, I had learned most of the proper names and functions to better understand any changes I might make. I had paid particular attention to my brain, wondering if I could compensate for my condition, only to determine it was too detailed for me to control.

_Is that a new lobe? _I was astounded. There was a structure spread throughout my choroid plexus. It seemed to be made of cortical neurons, but it was still producing the necessary cerebrospinal fluid. It seemed to be attached to my corona pollentia by a network of neurons. Careful examination showed the odd growth was a semi-independent backup brain. It was be connected to the gemma, therefore my powers, I suspected.

Experimentally I tried to make my hearing more acute. Rather than my deliberately manipulating my tympanic cavity, I sensed the new structure managing the details. It did everything I would have done, faster and easier. Maybe even better, though I was not sure how that might work.

_I guess I know who, or maybe what, has been managing my body while I have been out. Not sure I approve of all the changes, but it is better than being dead. _

I was brought out of my internal wanderings by the medic checking on my concussion. I had to make sure that my visible wounds were as they should be. The sub-brain kept trying to heal them automatically. As she left, I could hear there were more people in the clinic. Two were working on computers and another was working on a smartphone. _That's what I really need, net access._

I pulled myself out of bed, wrapping the hospital gown around me as well as I could, and walked out to the man at the desk. He was one of the people that had carried me into the building. He looked up from his game when I approached.

"Excuse me. May I borrow your phone for a few minutes. They tell me mine is lost." I just hoped he understood English.

With a smile he handed me his device.

"Thanks. I'm going to sit over there." I pointed to a chair in his sight, but far enough away he could not see what I was doing. The first thing I did was bring up a map to find out just where I was. About a third of the way up the east coast of Greenland, it was almost 2000 miles from home. _How the hell did I get here?_

_The best I can think is that I floated here. _The Gulf Stream might take me in this general direction. And if the date on the phone was correct it had been almost two months since the Endbringer attack. Some quick math on the phone's calculator showed I would have had to average less than two miles an hour to cover the distance. If my body was getting oxygen from the water and nourishment from the sunlight, I could have made it while that sub-brain kept me unconscious.

I almost accessed PHO but realized I did not want to use my login on someone else's phone. Instead I googled the Leviathan attack. A few clicks brought me to the list of fatalities.

I was dead.

So were my mother, father, and sister.

I must have made some sound. The medic was in my face in seconds. She eased me back into my bed.

I was dead. That did not surprise me. I remembered the monster crushing me into the sand, drowning me in the waters of the Bay.

My second death. It seemed I had gotten stronger; just like after the first time I had drowned in the Bay.

My family's fate was sad, but not unanticipated. There were always significant losses in an Endbringer attack. My emotional connection to them had been fraying for years. It was almost like I felt I should be crushed by their deaths but was not.

Instead I felt free.

Everything that was Bryan Carpenter or Browbeat was gone.

To be accurate, I was not completely alone. My brother Scott had been at school in Amhurst when the attack occurred. He was finishing his second year at UMASS. There was no reason he would not still be alive. But he thought I was gone too. I could use this opportunity to start new.

No expectations.

No obligations.

No home or money either, but I thought I could work around that.

But first I had to get out of Greenland.

# # # # #

July 18, 2011

It took almost two days to get to the Canadian mainland. I spent half the first day getting out of Tasiilaq without leaving too many traces.

I found a map that showed me the right directions and flew overland to Nuuk, the capitol. I timed it so it was night when I got to the small city. That did not stop the local government from spotting me on radar. Helicopters were launching from what looked like a military or coast guard base. Rather than dealing with the less than welcoming committee, I dove into the frigid water.

I absorbed my clothes and added a layer of dense insulation under my once again green skin. The ocean's embrace felt like home. I quickly discovered my telekinesis could move me almost as fast underwater as in the air. I grew fins on my forearms and calves to help steer. My emerald hair, thicker and full of sensor clusters, spread out behind me. I traveled southwest until I eventually hit what I hoped was the Canadian coast.

While I covered the miles, skimming along a fathom beneath the surface, close enough to harvest the sunlight, I tried to come up with a plan. Where was I going? What was I going to do with my new life? More simply, what did I want? Trying to answer these existential dilemmas drove me to distraction.

My preoccupied reverie was interrupted when somebody fell in the water in front of me. I dived to avoid a collision, flipping to come up under the person. It was a man and he was bleeding from his head. I floated us until his face had breached the surface. Looking around I saw two fishing trawlers tied up alongside each other. They were slowly moving through the water.

There was a serious scuffle on one of the vessels, while the other was almost deserted. It appeared the crew of one boat had boarded the other and the men of the first boat were objecting. As I watched, another sailor was thrown from the deck.

Whatever was going on, someone was going to get killed if I did not stop it. I did not want to cause any more injuries, or risk any drownings, so I decided to try some shock and awe.

I pictured the old movie monster from the black lagoon and bulked up to my Browbeat physique. Scales popped up in patches all over my skin, my eyes grew to twice their size, and my ears became long and pointed with webbed spines almost like batwings. My lips shrank and teeth grew together into two plates, changing my voice to something inhuman. I was amazed the transformation only took a moment.

With a roar I soared from the water, the man slung over my shoulder. I landed on the stern of the boat with all the fighting.

"STOP!" I cried out.

All eyes turned to me. Everyone froze.

I dropped the unconscious man to the deck. He was close enough that my TK invisibly assured he landed gently. I leapt over the superstructure into the water where the other sailor had fallen. Almost instantly I breached and landed on the bow. I used my TK to increase the force of my landing, rocking the boat. I dropped the man I had fished out of the sea.

"Go back to your boat!" I growled, pointing to make my order clear.

They stared at me. I couldn't be the first cape they had seen, but I might be the first in person. And given Leviathan, every sailor had to be wary of monsters from the deep.

"NOW!" I raised my arms as if I was about to bring them crashing through the hull. They scattered. Several sailors started scurrying over the rail to the other boat. Others cowered in the stern.

_Blam!_

I felt buckshot impact my side. Most of it bounced. The few pellets that penetrated were quickly forced out, clattering quietly on the deck.

I whipped my head to the wheelhouse of the other boat. A man was standing, racking another shell into his shotgun. As he brought it back into firing position I leapt, with a TK assist, crossing to the deck in front of him.

I grabbed the barrel of the weapon and pulled upwards. He let go and stumbled back. I leaned close, growling. My ears rattled and I added an inhuman clicking deep in my throat. Without looking I tossed the shotgun over my shoulder. It flew a hundred yards to splash into the water.

I jumped back to the other boat. The attackers cast off and started motoring away. The sailors on the boat I was on stayed as far from me as they could.

"No fighting on the sea. I'll be watching!" Delivering a glare that I hoped would emphasize my warning, I dived over the rail and sank silently out of sight.

Not wanting to be a complete liar I did stay in the area and tracked both vessels by the vibrations of the engines. They traveled in different directions, eventually ending at different fishing villages along what I hoped was the Canadian coast.

With nothing better to do I decided to find out more about the conflict. I surfaced thirty yards behind the boat with the wounded men as it docked. I reduced my inhuman features, looking like a large man with green skin and hair. My face was mostly human; with pointed ears, subtle scales, and black eyes. My fins were still there but collapsed against my limbs. I was still nude, though I had grown scaled skin to cover all my naughty bits. I looked like an Aquatic Ken doll.

I stayed silent until it became obvious I had been spotted. People both on the boat and the shore were pointing. I slowly approached the gravel beach next to the pier. A crowd had gathered by the time I was standing out of the water. Several people had phones pointed at me. I saw one of the men from the fishing boat. I pointed to him. He pointed to himself and his eyebrows climbed into his hairline.

"Yes …you," I said.

"Eh …What?"

"What happened out there? Why the fight? People could have died." I kept my voice calm but pitched it to project.

"Uh … It was them bastards from Emily Harbour. They're always causing trouble They don't want us fishing 'their' waters."

"This was a conflict over fishing territory?" I couldn't believe they would kill over a bit of ocean when there was so much of it around.

"You know better than that, Owen," came a voice from the growing crowd. A woman's voice. "Ryland's been after Aiden since he went out with his sister."

"Now Lilly," protested another man. "Ryland's hated me since school."

"And you've been chasing Norah since back then too." The first sailor added.

"Shut up, Owen," Aiden said.

"Who are you?" asked a man with a green cap. That stopped the incipient argument.

"Call me Nemo." I liked the name. I remembered from reading Dickins it meant 'nobody', but it also alluded to Captain Nemo of _20,000 Leagues_ fame and the fish in the Earth Aleph cartoon.

"Why are you here?"

"Keep your conflict off the water. It is not safe for you there." I said then turned back to the water. I figured there was little chance I would be able to find a place for myself here as a supposed Case 53. And I was not really interested in taking up the life of a rural fisherman.

As I walked back into the sea, I kept expecting for someone to call out for me to stop. Maybe one of the men I had saved from drowning wanting to thank me. Maybe one of the kids or someone inviting me to stay and eat a meal at least. If they had, I would have stayed, for a while at least.

No one did.

Hollywood lies.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

July 18, 2011

As I swam away from the fishing village, I realized I needed to find somewhere to stop and take stock of what had happened in the world since my "death". That might go a long way towards helping shape my plans.

Frolicking in the ocean, schooling with the salmon, and shadowing the whales listening to their songs showed me I could stay in the water indefinitely. I did not need to get a job to be able to eat and afford an apartment. I could just keep sunning and swimming, as long as I did not run afoul of Leviathan. And it was a big ocean.

As I swam, my mind wandered.

_"What do you want to do with your powers?" asked Miss Militia._

_"He wants to join the Wards and be a hero," my father answered for me. "He's only got two more years until college. The scholarship trust alone is enough reason to join."_

_"Clark," My mother cautioned. "I've been speaking with Dr. Cohen. We're not certain that such a dangerous job would be a good idea for Bryan, given his … condition."_

_"What condition! There's nothing wrong with the boy that some healthy exercise and some common sense wouldn't cure. He could get both exercise and the right sort of leadership training in the Wards. It would look great on his college applications. He might even get into one of the Ivys."_

_I sat quietly. With both of the parents in the room there was no real reason for me to speak, nor any opportunity either. I wondered if Miss Militia would realize that and ask to speak to me alone. Not that I had an answer for her if she did. I had no idea what I wanted to do, except find out what I could do._

_Certainly, I had asked myself what I would do if I ever got powers. I think every kid since Scion first arrived had contemplated that question._

_For me it had always depended on what the powers were. If all I could do, like that guy in Buffalo, was fly very slowly when the sun was shining, or change the color of my hair and eyes, like that girl in Texas, I probably would continue my plan to be a biotech researcher._

_If, on the other hand, I got some real powers I probably would want to become a hero, and the Wards was not a bad path to that end._

_But I needed to know, to a level of scientific certainty and with precise detail, what I could do. The "power testing" I had undergone at the PRT was far too superficial for my peace of mind. They claimed it had told them what I was capable of. But I did not think it was nearly exacting or exhausting enough._

_What did I want to do with my powers? Test them, to destruction if necessary._

As I swam, a sizable shark took an interest in me. My instinctive reaction was concern. But I was easily able to outdistance it.

_The Merchants were running from their failed attack on the E88, even though the Nazis had given up the chase sometime ago._

_Looking down from the rooftop I was somewhat disappointed that someone had already disabled most of the systems on Squealer's newest battle wagon. From my online research I thought her wielding her own weapons in prime condition may have been one of the most dangerous opponents in the Bay. I was wanted to test myself against such an opponent someday. But it would not be today._

_Not only was Squealer mostly defanged, but Mush seemed to be missing as well. All I saw in the cockpit of the slapdash tinker's creation was her and her leader, Skidmark. I did not want to underestimate him; he did run one of the largest criminal organizations in the city. And his deflector fields could be made into a significant force multiplier, given enough preparation time. But in a moving vehicle, after whatever measures he had made were already used, he was much less of a challenge for my testing._

_Still it was an opportunity to learn something. I was four stories up, approximately 50 feet. I adjusted my forcefield but did not make any non-standard adjustments to my legs. Dropping from the roof, I hit the concrete sidewalk hard enough to cause cracks. I felt a modicum of pain in my ankles and knees and marked it in my memory as a 3 out of 10._

_The battle wagon was approaching me at high speed. I had several options. My costume was dark enough they would likely not notice me. I could let the pass without engaging. I could interpose my body to try to bring the vehicle to a stop, though simple physics suggested my telekinesis might not be able to overcome the momentum of the moving mass. I could use a weapon of some sort to improve my leverage and stay out of the direct path of the vehicle. Or I could attempt to board the vehicle while it was moving._

_Looking around for potential weapons, I saw a stop sign on its standard steel pole, a Brockton Bay Broadsheet dispenser, a dumpster at the mouth of a nearby alley, and a telephone pole. The last was the most interesting. It would give me a significant leverage advantage. But I felt it prudent to avoid collateral damage and inconveniencing the citizenry where possible. And tearing down a telephone pole, where communications and possibly power lines were strung would unquestionably inconvenience the neighborhood._

_I grabbed the dumpster instead._

Upon reflection, I had enjoyed that bit of action on the boats. Saving the drowning men and taking the gun from the other guy. It reminded me there was more to my desire to be a hero than exploring my powers and meeting my parent's expectations. They were gone, therefore could no longer expect anything from me. I could want to be a hero because it was good to help people and fun to use my powers.

If that was my goal, to be a hero, then I wanted to be the best hero I could be.

After only a few weeks in the Wards, I had been convinced that the Protectorate was not the path for me to become the best I could be. Too much bureaucracy. Too much PR, photo ops, and showing the flag. Not nearly enough saving people and stopping bad guys. I did not want to do that again.

So, I needed to find what the other options were. And for that I needed civilization and access to the internet.

I continued down the coast until it turned southwest. The flavor of the water changed. It was fouled. Not wishing to bathe in the contamination, I floated out of the water and started flying south. Soon I noticed rocky islands and islets jutting from the ocean's surface. When I spotted a submerged building with just a bit of the roof sticking above the waves, I realized what I was seeing.

Newfoundland.

Leviathan had sunk the whole island, and its half a million people back in 2005. Morbid curiosity led me to fly over the remains of the island. It took hours and was a truly depressing experience. I had an idea that I could try to salvage cash or other valuables from the sunken towns and buildings. But the thought of swimming in waters with hundreds of thousands of human corpses was disgusting. Not particularly rational, but I was not willing to try to overcome the visceral reaction.

Eventually I was out over clean sea again and dove. I headed west towards where I hoped some Canadian cities might be. Eventually I found a town big enough where the locals would not expect to recognize everyone they saw, and I could lose myself. It turned out to be Sydney, Nova Scotia.

I took the form of a generic white guy, around college age, dressed in cargo shorts, t-shirt, hoodie, and deck shoes. I waited until just before dawn to come ashore. I needed a library. Luckily it was a Tuesday, so the library was open. No one stopped me as I headed towards the available computers.

Logging on to PHO with a new account let me catch up to the madness that was Brockton Bay.

Leviathan I knew about. Aegis and Gallant dead. Armsmaster out. The Undersides in charge? The Nine! Some clone making monster. The Triumvirate. Cauldron? Legend resigns! The Teeth and the Fallen. Pigott and Tagg gone. Alexandria DEAD! It looks like Brockton Bay went batshit in just two months.

_Maybe it was lucky I drifted away when I did. Is there any reason to go back?_

I decided to stick around Sydney for a few days. I was uncomfortable not having any money on me. The first thing I looked for a place to sell plasma, only to find Canadians do not pay for blood or plasma donations. I googled other ways to make quick money. The suggestions got pretty weird. Selling my hair? I thought that was a possibility, but I could not find a wigmaker in town. Searching for recycling seem too time-consuming for the possible return. I thought I might check out the waters around town to see if there was anything worth salvaging. An afternoon and evening skimming the harbor netted several phones, watches, wallets, pieces of jewelry, and other valuables. The next morning, I found a couple of pawn shops that were willing to take most of it off my hands for a couple of hundred.

I spent the next three days looking for alternatives to the Protectorate. There was so much I could not do for myself in terms of legal support, resources and logistics, investigations and intelligence gathering, and many other things. If I was going to be a successful hero, I needed the assets of some sort of organization. As I had no idea how to set up an organization myself, I needed partners or sponsors, preferably with less baggage than the Wards.

The Guild was the best possibility in the Western Hemisphere. Europe had the Kings Men and the Suits, but I had no reason to go there. The less said about China and many other parts of the world the better. Corporate or sponsored teams were a possibility. You could even be on one and still join the Guild.

I knew I would have to make a name for myself to get the Guild's attention. They are not interested in amateurs and neophytes. I just had to decide what that name would be. Browbeat was not it. He was too tied to the Protectorate. I think they even owned the trademark.

If I could keep my changer powers mostly hidden it would allow me to maintain more than one cape identity. Nemo could be one of them. But, I decided, he was not going to be my main identity. As fun as he is, I do not think an aquatic hero is in that great a demand for a group like the Guild.

I needed to think analytically.

Examining the Guild's roster, Dragon and Narwhal were the best known. A tinker … maybe THE tinker … and a mistress of force fields. They had Stonewall as a brute, but no real Alexandria package. I could be that. With my physical enhancements and my telekinetic force field and flight, I _was_ an Alexandria package. But I needed something to make me stand out.

Of course, I would need someone to help set up the civilian identity or identities for my new personae. I could have whatever my new main cape identity targeted for Guild membership, Nemo for undersea adventuring, and maybe a villainous identity to allow me to go undercover for investigations.

I have no idea how to set up fake identities. I probably need a hacker. But how could I trust that hacker not to blackmail me or sell my information to someone else?

I had a lot to think about.

# # # # #

July 30, 2011

Behemoth attacked New Delhi. I was nowhere near an Endbringer siren so had no way of knowing about the attack or volunteering to help. I read about it after I surfaced in Halifax. I wondered if I would have gone, given the chance. I had already been killed once by an Endbringer. I was not anxious to face another. I did not consider this cowardice, just prudence.

I had not yet selected a destination where I wanted to permanently relocate. Sydney had proven to be too small. I had moved on to Halifax because it was on the way back to the States and was about the same size as Brockton Bay, if a lot safer. I figured I could find resources to build my new identities and could find work while I planned and trained.

In the depths off the touristy Halifax Waterfront I found one of those neck wallets that someone had dropped. In it was a passport, cash, and several credit cards all in the name of Zeek Powers. He was a young man from Australia with dark skin and unkempt hair. The passport was six years old, but still valid. I came ashore in a park early the next morning. I adopted Zeek's appearance as well as I could. It was not a great likeness, but I had never been good at copying faces.

I decided Zeek was going to be a Rogue. I had researched to find that Canada did not have laws restricting capes from using their powers in business. I decided Zeek would be a changer/brute. He would have an unpowered form and change into a giant, or as large as I could manage, as long as it was bigger than Browbeat.

When I finished the new body, he had orange skin partially covered in bony plates as armor. He'd be strong and tough, but I would not use my TK to boost him. He was not meant as a combat identity if I could avoid it. Zeek's identity would be known.

I made my way into town, wearing my new Zeek face. The first place I went to was a backpacker's hostel where I booked a bed for the week, paying cash. I had ditched the credit cards. Then I picked up two pay-as-you-go SIM cards and chargers for the two working phones I had found in underwater pouches. Lastly, I found a library with free internet. It was time to look for a job.

"Welcome to Selective Demolitions," offered the construction supervisor, Mike Bain. He looked me over with a dubious gaze. "Jeff tells me you're a cape."

"Yes sir." I had played with my mouth, nose, and throat until it produced what sounded like an Australian accent to me. I had no idea what it sounded like to others.

"He wants to try you on this job. Seems to think super strength will let you get in tight places easier than bringing in special equipment or a regular guy with a sledgehammer. I'm not sure about this, but he's the boss."

"That's what he told me too."

"How strong are you?"

"Not quite sure. But I can lift over a ton." I hesitated. "Uh …there is one thing."

"What?"

"I have to be a bit bigger when to get stronger."

"That could be a problem. How much bigger?"

We were sitting in a trailer on the street outside an old stone building. I knew the job was to clear out the building without hurting the exterior or load bearing walls. I had argued with Jeff Atherton, the company manager that I could be of use. He finally agreed to hire me on a probationary basis before sending me to Mr. Bain. I looked around the trailer and gently stomped on the floor. "Might be better to show you outside. I think the ceiling is high enough, but I am not certain about the floor."

"Ok?"

Once outside, I took off my shirt and shoes. They were real, not extruded. All I was left wearing were loose orange construction pants. Closing my eyes, I began to quickly expand. In seconds I was eight feet tall and massively muscled. My skin was a duller orange than my pants. Greyish bone plated my head, shoulders, chest and back. I was bald and had no external ears. Looking down I smiled at Mr. Bain. "Think I can fit?"

He stepped back, then forward again, looking at me closely. "Yeah. Maybe not in every nook and cranny. But the main areas have high ceilings. Even the basements are pretty roomy. Grab a hammer and let's see what you can do."

The rest of the work crew stopped and stared. I picked up the three biggest sledgehammers I saw and followed him into the building. He took me upstairs to the main concourse and pointed to an interior brick wall. It was obviously decorative. It looked like this had been some sort of café. Three guys were already working to take down the wall with hammers. Mr. Bain motioned them away. "We need to take this wall out completely. There's nothing on the other side so have at it."

I grabbed one hammer and motioned everyone back a little farther, as I was not sure of my swing radius. I swung and the wooden handle broke as I embedded the hammer head in the brick. After plucking the head out, I looked at the other hammers' wooden handles and dismissed them.

I made a fist. Bone plates covered my knuckles like a medieval gauntlet. I knew the bone was extremely dense, much tougher than regular bone so thought I'd give it a try. If it did not work, I would heal quickly enough.

Carefully gauging my strength, I set my fist a foot away from the wall and slammed it forward. I bashed through the bricks much more easily than the hammer had done. I punched with my left, taking out more bricks. Five minutes later I had reduced the wall to knee level. A few kicks with a bone covered foot and the wall was rubble.

"Damn!"

"Fucking hell!"

"No way!"

"Yeah …I think this'll work," Mr. Bain said finally. "Maybe need to get you some steel hafted hammers?"

"No way," one of the watching crew men said. "Get him a couple of pulverizers, the biggest they got." He held up a metal tool that looked like the offspring of a hammer, a crowbar, and a ax. "They can bash and rip and pry all in one."

"Yeah, that's the ticket," agreed another.

"Sounds good," Mr. Bain said. "Sandy, he's with you today. See what else he can do." The supervisor turned to me. "What do we call you?"

"Ogre."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

August 16, 2011

What the hell was the Empire Eighty-Eight doing in Halifax? I'd been there two weeks when I started seeing wolf heads and swastikas tagged around town. Two days later it was all over the local media – one of the giant valkyrie, the two super ninja, TK girl, and some new elementals had attacked Pier 21, the Nova Scotia equivalent of Ellis Island right in the middle of the day when all the tourists were there.

Apparently, it had been a recruiting stunt as Victor and Othala had spent most of the attack proselytizing to the crowd. The Chosen, as they called themselves, were even careful to see that most of the tourists and staff had exited the building before they destroyed it. I suspected some people of color might not have made it out. The RCMP and Halifax Regional Police had sent their joint Cape Task Force (CTF) team. After a violent daylight battle, they found they had nothing that could stop the Nazis.

I had not heard about it until the attack was over. I did show up as Ogre to try to help rescue efforts. The police were not happy to see another cape after what they had gone through.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded a man in full combat gear with a "POLICE" patch velcroed to his chest. He was not aiming his rifle at me yet.

"I'm here to help." I had my hands up and was speaking quietly. "My name is Zeek and I work construction. I can move heavy stuff if anyone is trapped or anything."

"You with the Chosen?"

"Nope. I'm an Ozzie not a Nazi."

Another policeman, this one in the regular uniform, came up to the tactical officer. "I've seen him over at the Holloway site, Grant. He's ok."

"I'm a worker, not a fighter. But maybe I can help?"

Officer Grant looked at me a bit longer. It was easy to see he did not trust me and would rather have opened fire than walk away. But walk away he did, without another word. The other officer watched him, then turned to me and offered a half-hearted smile.

"Eh, yeah. Come on over and talk with Chief Wonsik. He's in charge of S&R."

I spent most of the afternoon and well into the night working with the fire and emergency service to comb through the wreckage looking for survivors.

We did not find any.

"Zeek, Cathy needs you in the office." Sandy, my crew chief, let me know as we broke for lunch that Friday.

"Why?"

"Don't know. But it is payday." I nodded my head and moved towards the trailer that held the site office. I shrank down to normal size and pulled a t-shirt out of a pocket. I felt funny going into a semi-professional space half nude.

Inside Cathy, the company payroll person, was seated at one of the three desks. Usually empty, it was there for people from the main office to use. "Are you Zeek?" she asked as I approached.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Here's you pay for the first two weeks." She handed me an envelope. "I noticed you didn't fill out the immigration paperwork to show your permission to work in Canada."

I swallowed nervously. I had Zeek's passport but the entry stamps on it were more than a year old and there was no work permit.

"If you can get it into me sometime next week, before I process your next paycheck, I would appreciate it. I, uh, put the number of someone that can … help with the permit … if you have any questions." She actually gave a slow wink with the last sentence. "She works in the Immigration Office, but occasionally meets with _special_ clients outside hours."

I just nodded and headed out to lunch. Looking in the envelope I found a check for a fair amount of money, enough to keep me solvent for a month, even if I moved some place better than the hostel. There was also a phone number and email for a Jessie with 'work permits and other documentation' scribbled under it.

I texted the number and was invited to meet that evening at a pub. _Probably not a completely legit consultant,_ I decided. _But this has real potential_.

I got out a thousand in cash, not knowing the going rate. I had bought real clothes and a supposedly waterproof bag. As I did not trust my valuables to the others that shared my dorm in the hostel, I had created an internal pouch in my upper thigh where I could carry my passport, phone, and other treasures. The thousand went into this pouch through a slit in my pants pocket.

The pub was normal enough, based on what little I had seen in town. Jessie turned out to be a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit. She had a laptop and webcam set up on the table.

"Hi, I'm Jessie." She held out her hand. I shook it. "Sandy said you need proof of permission to work in Canada."

"Yeah."

"Can I see your passport?" I handed it to her, and she started typing. "Alrighty … Uh-huh … Ahhh …" She kept up a constant monologue of nonsense syllables.

After a moment she looked up at me and set the passport on the table. "It is very odd. This passport was reported lost nine months ago and Zeek Powers left for the US shortly after on a replacement passport."

"Ah …"

"Obviously a mix up of some sort. I'm sure I can get it straightened out. Showing you came back … three months ago? … with a proper work permit of course. How does that sound?"

"It was only a month ago, but … yeah." I had never negotiated with a forger so had no idea how to proceed. I was following her lead.

"I could work that through regular channels, but if you would like me to expedite it, there will be a $500 fee." She looked at me expectantly.

I reached in to my 'pocket' and took out my roll. I counted out half and laid it on the table. "How long does _expedited_ take?" I asked.

She smiled and went back to the computer. A few minutes and a ton of typing and clicking later she gave a satisfied "There we are." Then she took out a box. Inside were several stamps and an inkpad. Three quick stamps latter and she handed me back my passport. I handed her the cash.

"Just let me know if there is anything else I can do for you," she said with a smile.

"Not for me, I don't think. But I have a friend …"

"I'd be happy to talk with him or her. Any hint as to how I might be able to help?"

"Uh … Well, he seems to have lost all his ID, and needs new."

"Oh dear, that is unfortunate." She looked at me for a moment. "That has happened to a lot of people since the Newfoundland Tragedy. They have to go to the government to get new papers."

"Just the other day I had a lady come in with a similar problem," She settled in and took a sip of her drink. "The system had her listed as one of the lost. But she hadn't died. She'd not been on the island at all that horrible day. And she had no idea she was listed as one of the dead."

She leaned in. Her blouse fell forward a bit to show a hint of cleavage. "We call those type of survivors returnees. As compared to refugees, who were off island and known to be alive. Returnees don't crop up often, and it's quite a challenge when they do. It took weeks to get this poor lady back into the system with all the proper documentation and records. Weeks and weeks."

"Yeah, I can see the challenge," I commiserated. "I bet it would be a lot worse to try to get that sort of thing _expedited_, wouldn't it?"

"A full set of papers? That could be …" She made a show of considering carefully. "Oh I'd guess that would cost at least $1500, maybe more."

"Especially to get a driver's license and a passport along with the birth certificate, school records, and everything," I clarified. "That must really be difficult."

"For all that, in under three days, would cost a good $2000. The government is always willing to work faster if you pay them. But they aren't cheap."

I knew I could probably negotiate for a better price, but I had never tried haggling and I doubt it worked like it did in RPGs.

"Returnee … that describes my friend pretty well. Can I give him your number so he can find out what he needs to do?"

"I'd be happy to talk with him." She smiled widely. I smiled and thanked her.

She gave me a little wave as I left.

# # # # #

August 22, 2011

Over the weekend I texted Jessie from a different phone. We made arrangements to meet at the same pub on Monday evening. I had been planning on finding an apartment over the weekend. But the documents were taking up most of my spare cash. And I was not certain I wanted to stay in a town where the forger knew my faces and names.

I decide to do a little training. I swam out until I found an island with a few deserted buildings on it. It looked like WWII era military emplacements. Possibly part of the harbor defenses or something. Three large concrete bunkers and the remains of several Quonset huts. A dilapidated dock showed where they would have accessed the facility.

I came on shore and adjusted my eyes to see better under the cloudy night sky. I wanted to test my strength and my telekinesis. I knew they had both improved, but not by how much.

I spent some time digging increasingly large bolder out of the cliff face. I could not find one I could not lift with a normal combination of enhanced physique and TK. Using my TK alone I was able to lift all but the largest.

I had an idea I wanted to try. I stood next to one of the Quonset huts, laying my hand against the corrugated metal. I could extend my TK along the metal as long as I was touching it. Eventually I could feel the whole structure. Then I gave my TK a push. The building exploded outward. It was as if had punched with my full TK strength at every spot on all the surfaces at once.

I tried it again on a different hut. The effect was the same. I used much less strength on the third hut. All the windows and doors exploded outward, but the walls remained whole.

I used the same trick in the concrete emplacements. I found that using my TK this way was not as effective as an all-out punch but could impact a much greater area. It also turned out that the tactile awareness did not penetrate the dense concrete as easily or as quickly as the thin metal of the earlier buildings. I was surprised to find I could use this awareness to map out the structures without being able to see inside them.

Finally, I tried the same trick on the ground. I knelt laying my hand on the soil. I reached my tactile awareness down and out as far as I could, encompassing a hemisphere almost fifteen feet in radius. I _pushed_.

Exploding the ground on which you are kneeling on it is not a smart move. I was flung into the air, landed hard on a distance away, and was showered with dirt and rocks. When I got to my feet I saw the crater I had left behind.

This was not something I ever wanted to use on people. But it was certainly something that would distinguish my super identity from other Alexandria packages.

I also practiced using my TK on things without touching them. It was still limited to short range. Out to about three feet from my body I could use it at about half-strength. As it got further, it decreased in an inverse square. I could barely lift a ten pound rock at ten yards, and it took as much effort as lifting a thousand pounds at one yard. This limitation did not apply if the item was contiguous. For instance I picked up an old rope. It was at least thirty feet long, But, I was able to control the whole thing easily as long as I was touching one end. I could even use the rope to wrap around and pick up much heavier rocks than I could with my TK at the same distance. I thought this had real potential.

The next day I spent in the library looking up cape names and power sets. I wanted to create my new identity as a flying brute with explosive touch. I decided on the name Impact. This would be a classic good guy hero. A real white hat. And the identity that was most likely to make it into the Guild.

Still I could not get the idea of the rope acting as a whip or tentacle. Looking up on the internet I saw Earth Aleph comic and movie characters such as Spawn, Whiplash, and Doc Ock used flexible weapons to such great effect. I decided to build a dark hero/vigilante persona that would use TK controlled chains as weapons and tools. After some though I decided to try calling him The Judge. I did not see using that persona much.

I found an online costume designer and started playing with ideas.

On Monday I met with Jessie. I was wearing a different face, that of an early twenty's black man, tall and athletic. I approached her directly and said "Zeek sent me? I'm …"

"Don't tell me. Let me see what I can find, and I'll tell _you_ your name." She grinned like a naughty girl. As she worked on the computer, she started her soliloquy of sub-vocalizations. "How about …Maybe this one …Ohhh … that might work …No…what about ….Hmmm?"

This went on for almost twenty minutes. Periodically she would look up and examine my face carefully. Once she asked me to stand up. Finally, she let out a "Yes! There you are, my pretty."

I raise one eyebrow, a new skill I had recently cultivated for this persona.

She turned the computer around. On the screen was a black teen, a little skinny, with a scraggly beard. But the basic bone structure and features were a good match for my current face. "Nice to meet you Mr. Micah Barton. Age twenty-two. Former resident of St. John's. Graduate of St. Andrew's Elementary, Leary's Brook Junior High, and attended Prince of Wales Collegiate until the Tragedy. Thought to be lost, but now we know you survived."

She pushed the computer towards me. I looked through the records. It seemed like a good fit. He had a family that were all lost. Parents worked at the local university. Played sports, which I would have to fake.

"You must have made it out on a private boat. I bet you had a head injury and only recently regained your full memories." She frowned dramatically. "So many returnees suffered significant memory loss during their ordeals. It's a documented fact."

"Just so." I replied.

"And in three days I'll be sure to find the supporting medical records, along with the records of the last five years you spent in that remote village in Nunatsiavut. It's really too bad they have such a spotty records database." Her expression flattened. "Of course, that kind of detail comes with a significant surcharge. Did our mutual acquaintance mention the required fee?"

"Half now, half on delivery?" I asked, remembering my movie dialogue. She nodded and I slid over an envelope.

"I'll see you Thursday." She smiled and raised her glass.

I nodded and left.

As I walked towards the hostel, crossing a street I was almost run down by a costumed woman on a tricked-out motorcycle. She was gone so fast all I could see was flashes of blue, white, and gold; with long black hair and a lighthouse icon. People on the street stopped to cheer as she went by. Given the reaction, I did not think she was one of the Chosen. I knew there were a few local capes. I decided to see where she was going.

Feeling like a comic book character, I ducked into a dark alley, making sure it was empty, and changed into my draft costume for Impact. Ten seconds after she'd passed, I was in the air. She was easy to follow. She shone like her icon.

She ended up in a less touristy part of the waterfront. Here were the gravel pits, grain silos, and tank farms. And warehouses. Lots of warehouses. I was not surprised when she stopped at one. The sound of gunshots was a clue something might be wrong.

I watched astounded as she literally launched herself from her cycle, some sort of ejector seat, and crashed through a second-floor window. The bike parked itself safely. Got to love tinker tech.

There was a pause in the gunfire for about three seconds, then it resumed at a greater volume. Before I could make my entrance, a powerful flash illuminated all the windows.

Then the screams started.

Floating to the nearest window, I made sure polarizing lenses covered my eyes, just in case she got flash-happy again. Inside the lighthouse cape was facing off against two groups of mooks. Some were obviously E88 scum, whatever they called themselves. The rest I did not recognize. They looked like regular guys, just with guns.

Watching her work was a master class in close quarters combat. She was moving between the dozen or so gun toting gang bangers, smacking them with a baton in each hand while they seemed to be flailing blindly. It was like watching a martial arts movie.

Until a stray shot starred the glass next to where my face pressed against it.

I decide not to jump in. She seemed to have everything under control. I watched as she threw a baton at one thug, a burst of light from the now empty hand flashing another at close range. Both ended up on the floor. In less than five minutes she had them all down.

Then she pointed her baton at me and motioned for me to approach with a glowing hand.

Crap!

I opened the window and flew slowly towards her, hands showing empty. "Hi. That was amazing."

"Thanks." The chill in her voice seemed to lower the temperature in the room. "Who are you?"

"I'm Impact. I'm new."

"Lumen," she replied.

Before she could continue, a loud screech tore through the warehouse wall like a saw. We both turned to see more gunmen pouring into the opening followed by a massive man in a sheepskin duster and a tall, slender woman in a floor-length fur-trimmed black coat carrying a silver toped black walking stick.

"Looks like you picked a bad day to debut," Lumen told me flatly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

August 22, 2011

"You know," the big man said, his voice carrying throughout the warehouse without him raising it, "When we got word you was zooming this way, Whisper said you was coming here. I bet her you was too smart to interfere in our business like that."

"Doing what I've got to do, Shout," the shining heroine shot back.

"Damn it, Lumen. Now I owe her money."

He made a growl to the side, like he was spitting. The sound sliced a crate in two. "I'm taking that out of your hide."

Lumen turned to me. "Duck …"

Ignoring her I watched as she shot a swingline into the rafters. It pulled her up and she disappeared in the shadows. Every eye the place followed her. It was a perfect set up for her flash attack. Even with my modified eyes I was still momentarily dazzled.

Apparently being blind did not stop some people from firing wildly. Getting shot, even when you have a force field, will get your attention. I decided to get in on the action.

Instead I hesitated. I had not gauged my new strength levels on people, and I did not want to really hurt anyone, or worse, kill them.

_Arrrgh! I need more time to train!_

I turned to the big guy. I had no idea if Shout was a brute as well as a blaster, but thought I was less likely to break him. I need not have worried.

As I approached the man, Lumen swung down and crashed into the gunsels, taking three of them down in as many seconds. I let the action distract me. Taking advantage, Shout released a sonic cry that rattled me and left me dizzy.

He closed and slammed his knee into my gut. I barely felt it.

"Brute!" he called out as he swiftly back peddled.

I was concentrating on closing my outer ears to protect me from further attacks and modifying my inner ears to alleviate the damage the sonic blaster had already done.

By the time I looked up Shout was well out of my reach and preparing another blast. I tanked it. Its energy pressed on my forcefield and the sub-sonics washed ineffectively against my blocked ears.

Of course, that meant I did not hear Whisper close in behind me. She slowly pressed her stick against me, bypassing my force field and releasing a butt load of electricity directly against my costumed back. Again, I felt it.

"Ow!" I had set Browbeat's default build to be resistant to electricity, heat, cold, and toxins. I had neglected to include those modifications for Impact. I quickly made the adjustments while the woman in black's shock stick ran out of charge.

As soon as my body stopped jerking, I turned and glared at her. She sprayed some sort of gas from the head of the stick. Her aim was impeccable, and it shot right up my nose. My force field was not set to stop air as I still had to breathe in this form. Luckily this was the sort of toxin I had just set defenses against.

I reached out to grab her, but she danced away. I moved towards her, only for a deep pitched shout to slam me off my feet, flinging me into a shipping container.

_I think I'm getting my ass kicked._ I grumbled. By the time I got myself untangled Lumen was dueling with Whisper, dual batons versus tricked out walking stick. _Damn!_

When I realized I had let myself be distracted again I looked for Shout, only to find him just as fascinated with the two battling beauties. I touched a crate, causing it to shoot towards the beguiled blaster.

He must have heard it coming, dodging enough to avoid the full force. It still knocked him spinning. I moved in, my feet leaving the ground. I grabbed his jacket. He slipped out of it and screamed in my face. I could hear nothing. The waves bounced off me and pushed him back, out of my reach. _What was that?_

As he rolled to get back to his feet, I surged forward and grabbed his arm. He turned towards me, his moth opening. I used my TK to spin around like a top. His feet jerked off the ground as her went horizontal in the air. I swapped direction without slowing, jerking him like a whip. I felt a pop and he screamed again. As his other arm flopped behind his back, I grabbed it and stopped.

I had hold of both his arms with him facing away from me, his feet off the ground. I pulled a piece of scrap metal to me and carefully used it to craft a gag. I used his jacket to bind his arms.

Once he was secured, I looked for Lumen. She was watching me. I thought I detected a touch of approval in her regard. I hoped so. Whisper was bound at the hero's feet.

"I need more training," I said as I adjusted my ears to hear normal voice ranges, but still protecting from sub-sonics. "I could also use a few zip ties. I was not expecting to go out tonight."

"You did fine," She assured me as she handed me the restraints. She checked the gag and added something from her pouch on top of it. I assumed she had special gear just for him.

"You were amazing." I could feel the blush rising and mercilessly suppressed it.

"Thanks," she said, checking the gangsters. "I've been at this a while. Do you have a phone to call the police?"

"No need," came a voice form the hole in the wall. "They ain't coming."

We both turned in time to have a crescent of air compressed so tightly it was almost opaque in its solidity hit the ground between us. It exploded violently. Lumen rode the force, flipping away. I was knocked into the air, where I banked into a turn towards the new attacker.

There was a pale, tall man with the sort of muscle-heavy build you only saw on cons and bodybuilders. He wore black slacks that were in tatters around his feet, had chains wrapped around his forearms, hands and calves, and a blue-white tiger mask.

"Stormtiger!" I snarled as I rocketed towards him. I had no compunctions about hitting this Nazi hard. He and his fascist compatriots had been the nightmares of Brockton Bay for most of my life.

But before I could hit him, the bastard bounced away, using his aerokinesis to augment his leap. I followed.

Stormtiger led me on a merry chase. I was faster in a straight line, but he was much more maneuverable. And he used that to keep me turning tight corners, flying over vehicles and under cranes. I grabbed a loading net in passing, sending it to entrap the damned Nazi, but he quartered it with two claws thrown as he spun 180 degrees in mid-air, bounced off a wall and was suddenly in my face.

He had hit me three times before I could react, each compressed air blow rocking me. I swung. With a slap, he diverted my fist over his shoulder. His other hand clawed at my ribs. I spun, trying to tag him with an elbow.

Stormtiger laughed. "Dude, saw that one coming last week."

He had speed and skill on me. I needed to think of something. I used my TK to drag my fist towards him as fast as I could.

I think we were both surprised when it slammed into his chest. There was a sickening crackling and he flew back in a parabola that ended with him slamming hard into the cab of a crane. The glass shattered. He crumpled to the platform.

I looked down at his still form, hoping he was not dead. Reluctantly I checked. I was relieved to find he still had a pulse.

_Wish I had some containment foam._ Instead I found some cable and wrapped him carefully, his hands pointing towards his chest. Throwing him over my shoulder I started back towards the original warehouse.

Inside was an unconscious Lumen dangling from a rafter, tied with her own swingline. No one else was there. But a snapped silver headed walking stick piercing a bloody sheepskin on the ground next to a wolf's head drawn in blood told me Stormtiger had not come alone.

I was checking on Lumen was using the knowledge of the human body I had gained from my anatomy readings, along with the first aid training I had gotten in the Wards to determine her condition. Battered and bruised, but still alive. There was a nasty knot on her head, which explained her unconscious state.

That was when the police arrived.

It was not hard to see how they might get the wrong idea. I was an unknown cape looming over the downed local hero, my hand pressing on her head.

"Back away from the hero!" came a barked order.

I looked up to find the CTF officers pouring cautiously through both the door and the torn wall. Several of them had rifles pointed at me.

"I'm a hero," I said as I stepped back from Lumen with my hands raised. I slowly sank to my knees and locked my fingers behind my head. "Lumen is unconscious but does not seem to be badly injured."

"Do not move or we will fire," continued the original officer as he and two others closed in on me. They were well-trained and kept their firing lines open and their weapons pointed at my chest. A fourth went around and wrenched my hands behind my back, cuffing them quickly. I did not resist.

I looked over as two more officers started to examine Lumen. She jerked awake. The officers stepped back at the glow in her hands. A quick glance allowed her to take in the current state of things and her glow dimmed.

"What happened?" asked the man I assumed was the team lead. "And what do we do with this guy?" He gestured with his barrel towards me.

She looked at me, taking in my position and restraints. "I think he's alright. Helped me fight Whisper and Shout. He was chasing one of Fenrir's Chosen when the rest caught me." She looked around again. "I'm guessing they took our problem children afterwards. Whisper's goons were fighting some out of town boys. Given that those guys are also gone, along with their wolf themed outifs, I am assuming they were also with the Chosen."

"So, you think the Chosen are cutting in on Whisper's rackets?" the man asked. I finally recognized him as Grant, who I had encountered as Ogre.

"Excuse me?" I prompted.

They both turned back to me. I wriggled my arms, drawing attention to my restraints. "Are these really necessary?"

Grant looked at Lumen. She cocked her head and his shoulders fell, just a little.

"Fine," he said. "Uncuff him." As one of his men moved to comply. The leader addressed me. "We still have questions for you, and we'll need a statement. First thing, what's your name?"

"I am … I'm new," I replied. I was consciously trying to make this identity's speech patterns different from my former ones. This included the use of contractions, something Bryan/Browbeat did not use, much to his sister's frustration. "This is my first night out. I'm calling myself Impact. I don't think that is in use by someone else."

"Impact?" he confirmed.

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, Impact …" He gave the name some sort of emphasis, the implications of which escaped me. "Tell me everything you saw and heard, as well as everything you did tonight."

"Alright." And I did.

I reported like I was talking to Armsmaster, adding every detail I could remember. I did not give any specifics on my powers but included their effect on the fights. I also described what I saw of Lumen's actions, and those of the villains.

The local hero listened closely and asked a few questions. Grant seemed comfortable in letting her take the lead. Halfway through my recitation we were directed to an office with a table and chairs which made Grant's note taking easier. We were even brought Tim Horton's coffee and donuts.

"Are you associated in anyway with the PRT?" Grant asked after I had wound down. The CTF officers were all at low alert what seemed like hundreds of uniformed officers from both forces had arrived and were holding back civilians and coordinating with the RCMP forensics crew. In the distance I saw news trucks. I realized this was probably a bigger deal here than it would have been in Brockton Bay.

"Like I said, this is my first night out." I replied, letting my gaze wander to some reporters shouting questions at the uniformed officers outside the warehouse.

I was not a great liar. It was not a skill set I had developed in my first life, though I had gained some practice trying to manage a secret identity as Browbeat. Trying to manage multiple identities was likely to give me a great deal more practice. I determined to find some physiological studies on reducing tells for dishonesty. I imagined with effort I would be able to brute force a good poker face.

"I ask because I just got word that the Toronto Protectorate is sending a team to assist with our efforts to contain the Chosen," Grant reported. "They should be here tomorrow, and I'm sure they'll want to talk with you."

"Do you have any problem with that?" Lumen asked, looking at me closely.

"No," I replied, hoping they did not have a Thinker with them. "Let me give you my number so they can contact me." I had obtained another burner phone for this purpose.

I just hoped my new Micah Barton identity was in the system before I needed it. Might need to contact Jessie to see if that could be further expedited.

# # # # #

August 23, 2011

I once heard some old saw about the Texas Rangers, back before they were a state funded cape team. "One Riot, One Ranger," it went. I guess for the Protectorate is was "One gang of invading super Nazis, two heroes."

The PRT sent Challenger and Grumman. The former I was familiar with. She had been a member of the Brocton Bay Protectorate when I was a kid, having transferred out a couple of years ago. I guess she ended up in Toronto. Challenger wore a red bodysuit with epaulettes, and some other decorations. She had a sharp, pronounced chin, medium length brunet hair, and dark eyebrows over green eyes. Crossed on her back she carried an axe and a rifle, both as tall as she is. Grumman was shorter than her, and a bit overweight. He wore a full-face mask with thick aviator goggles that hid his features. I guessed his age somewhere in his mid-thirties.

I watched them on the news in Zeek's new apartment. It was small and sparsely furnished. But it had wifi which allowed me to access the local media on my laptop. The Protectorate heroes were welcomed with a fair bit of fanfare. PHO's Halifax board was almost overloading. I had never gotten anything like this reaction as Browbeat. _Maybe Triumph had. He was pretty popular. _

It was two days before the Toronto pros contacted me for a meeting. During that time there had been another high-profile attack, this time when the Nazis broke Stormtiger out of the hospital lock-up. The Chosen struck and disappeared before the Protectorate heroes could respond. The attack had led the news for the rest of the day.

I had an idea how I might be able to infiltrate the gang to find out where they were or what they were planning. At the Pier attack Victor had publicly announced that Fenrir's Chosen was recruiting the "right sort" to swell the ranks of the Wolf Packs and were particularly looking for capes who shared their interests. Unfortunately, he did not give out their contact information.

Remembering the rumors of Hookwolf's dog pits in Brockton Bay I thought that sort of place might be worth a look.

This morning at work Zeek had cornered Amjad, one of the other more ethnic workers on site. "Hey, I have a question for you."

"What's up, big guy?" Amjad was at least third generation Canadian and his accent showed this, even though he looked like that Bollywood actor known for his giant hands.

"I am a little freaked out by these Nazi attacks."

"I hear you."

"Since I am new to town, I realized I do not know where to avoid. Are there neighborhoods or places the local white supremacist congregate?" I was in Zeek's natural form, which was obviously non-white, so I did not anticipate Amjad thinking I was looking to join.

"You're not going to Ogre out and go make trouble, are you?" There was an odd tone to his voice. I was not sure what it meant so I answered honestly.

"I have no intention or plans to do so."

"Right," he said, smiling a bit. "You're just looking for places to avoid. Well … I'd definitely avoid Tubby's on Duncannon and the Carsonville on Powells. They're probably the worst. Basically, biker bars with a "select clientele". Or so I hear."

"Good to know," I finished and went back to work. Amjad kept looking at me funny the rest of the day.

Now I had a good idea of where my night would start. But first Impact had a meeting with the Protectorate.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

August 24, 2011

"Thank you for coming to talk with us," Challenger said when I entered the conference room. It was in the CTF headquarters, a small steel building in the back of the RCMP regional headquarters. Grant, who I now knew was RCMP Sergeant Grant, commander of the Nova Scotia CTF, was there. As was Lumen, still sporting a small bandage on her head. On the other side of the table were the two Toronto pros.

Challenger shook my hand and gestured for me to sit at the end of the table, my back to the door. I offered my hand to Grant, who took it somewhat hesitantly, and Lumen who showed no such hesitation. Grumman offered his hand, completing the ritual. Everyone but Grant was in costume. e was in his everyday grey uniform. H He was in his everyday grey uniform. No one was noticeably armed, except the Sergeant's sidearm.

"We will be recording this session," Challenger declared as she started the device, not asking for permission. "Can we start with you identifying yourself?"

"I'm Impact, independent hero."

"And …" She said after a minute's silence.

"And what?" I asked.

"Where are you based?"

"That was my first appearance, so Halifax." I was tempted to offer more, maybe mention that I was considering moving. But decided to just answer the questions asked.

"You're a new hero? A recent trigger?" she continued.

"That seems like a person question and skating close to impinging on privacy rights." Lumen interrupted. I was a little surprised. She sounded like she was acting as some sort of advocate for me.

Challenger and Grumman both looked at her. Grumman's face was too covered to get a read on, but the former Brocktonite was showing obvious annoyance. "I was trying to establish that his appearance was unrelated to the arrival of the Chosen." Challenger snapped.

"No," I supplied. "No connection."

"So, you have never encountered the Chosen before?" Challenger pressed.

I thought quickly. I had fought Victor and Othala as Browbeat during my short solo career in Brockton Bay, but they were E88 then. "Never even heard of the Chosen before they attacked the Pier." I answered honestly.

Challenger sneered at Lumen, who answered in kind. Grumman and Grant looked between them almost cautiously. Their staring contest lasted for more than a minute before Challenger turned back to me. "Please tell me in your own words what happened when you arrived at the warehouse …"

Almost an hour later Challenger began to wrap up. "Thank you for your detailed report. You have a good eye."

"Thank you," I replied. I remembered how Armsmaster had trained us to debrief when I was a Ward.

"As new hero I would like to offer you the opportunity to come to the Protectorate headquarters in Toronto. We would be happy to pay your expenses. This would allow you to register …"

"Which is not required of independent heroes in Canada," Lumen broke in.

"… to register," Challenger continued without acknowledging the local hero's interruption, "so we can contact you in case of emergency and so that other Protectorate branches can identify you should you find yourself in their jurisdictions.

"We also offer you the opportunity for comprehensive power testing, so you know your own limitations. Better to find them in our lab than in a battle. Finally, we can offer a good salary, training, and other benefits if you should choose to join the Protectorate."

"It's a g-g-good d-deal," Grumman added. I think it was the first thing he had said since my arrival. His noticeable stammer may have dissuaded him from contributing more.

"Thank you," I said again. "I'll consider it."

And considering that I have been through PRT membership before and did not like it, I am not likely to seek it out again. Though, to be honest, it is possible that the Protectorate treats its adult members better than its Wards. Not that I saw any evidence of that under Director Piggot.

I stepped out of the conference room and was surprised when Lumen followed me.

"Care for some coffee?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "Where?"

"The Back Room?" She said, as if I should know it. If I was a local I probably would. But my cover identity, for which I had gotten the documentation just that afternoon, was not local. I would use that.

"I'm … not from Halifax," I said hesitantly. "So, I am not familiar with the name. Perhaps I can follow you?"

"If you're up for it I can give you a ride."

"Sounds great."

I had forgotten she rode a motorcycle but enjoyed the experience. We stopped at a hole in the wall café where she was met with nods from the staff as she led me to a back room. A waitress followed us and took my order.

"Orange juice if you have it, green tea if you do not." I said. It was my standard order in coffee shops and the few times I had been in bars. Having been on carefully controlled pharmaceutical regimens for the last few years, I needed to make sure I never introduced outside elements. I had stayed away from drugs and alcohol religiously. I was never certain about caffeine, so stayed away from coffee, energy drinks, and even colas.

Lumen cocked an eyebrow as they delivered her extra-large something or other covered in foam and sprinkles and my plain glass of juice. I looked at her bowl-sized "cup" and cocked an eyebrow in return.

"Not from these parts." She paraphrased what I had said earlier. "How long have you been in town?"

"Isn't that what you chided Challenger for asking?" I parried.

"It is, but she's a bitch and can't be trusted. I, on the other hand, am the heroic guardian of Halifax. I have a right to know."

"I am not sure you have a right, but I will tell you I arrived in town only this month."

"Are you planning on staying?"

"Not sure. Still trying to figure a lot of things out."

"Getting powers opens up a lot of opportunities," she sipped her concoction, "and forces you to make a lot of decisions."

"Yeah. All I really know is I want to be a hero. I want to be the best hero I can be."

"That's a good goal. The question is what does 'being the best hero' mean to you?"

I nodded but did not say anything.

"Who do you think the 'best' hero is currently?" she asked.

I pondered. "I don't know. Scion is the most powerful, and probably does the most to help people around the world."

"But he is more a force of nature than a real person. I don't think he has ever really interacted with anyone. Is that what it means to be a hero?"

"The Triumvirate certainly interact with other heroes. And they are almost as powerful as Scion."

"Agreed. Do you have a favorite?"

"Dragon?"

She nodded.

I cracked a cheeky grin, or what I thought such would look like. "Mouse Protector?"

"Dragon I can see, and at least she's Canadian. Mouse Protector, not so much. You've mentioned several heroes. What do they have in common?"

"High levels of power." I started counting off on my fingers. "Global, or at least international, reach. Making a real positive difference in the lives of the people they help."

"Popular, famous even?"

"Cause and effect?" I replied. "Are they popular because they're effective or are the effective, in part, because they are popular?"

"I'm not popular, but I think I am effective."

"The reactions of both Sergeant Grant and the staff of this café would belie your unpopularity. From what I have read and seen; you _are_ popular on a local scale. The same scale on which you are effective."

She smiled and nodded. "But you want to go big? Go big or go home?"

Thinking about it for a moment I smiled, "Don't have a home so I might as well go big."

"Does that mean you do not plan on staying in Nova Scotia? Maybe not even in Canada. Dragon aside. If you want to go big, you have to go to the States."

"You think so?"

"New York, LA, Washington, Houston, Las Vegas, Chicago; maybe New Orleans, Boston, or Brockton Bay – Those are the big time for the hero biz. Those are where you can launch a global profile."

"Brockton Bay?" I was shocked that she would include my cesspit of a hometown.

"Panacea is a world-class healer. Armsmaster was considered one of the best tinkers in the business. Lung, if he had the ambition, could have been an S-Class threat. Echidna was an S-Class threat that seems to have torn the Triumvirate apart. Again, international consequences. Then there is the sheer number of paranormals. It is …was … about the same size as Halifax, A touch smaller, I think. But it has maybe ten time the number of capes. Now there is that new portal. That could really put the place back on the map."

"The what?" I asked. I had read something about it but had not had time to look at it in-depth. I figured it was just another disaster in the making. This was Brockton Bay after all.

"There is now a permanent portal to another Earth open in downtown Brockton Bay. It doesn't go to Earth Aelph. They are calling it Earth Gimel. I hear it's empty of human life and full of resources and open space. A pristine world with no Endbringers."

My eyebrows shot up.

"I'd imagine Brockton Bay is about to blow up like a modern-day Klondike gold rush as people flock there to take advantage of the portal. I'd also imagine the power blocks in the city are trying to grab hold of the portal to control that flow of people and resources. It's a rare opportunity for an up and coming hero to make a name for himself. If that's what you are looking for."

She got up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Think about what you want and who you want to become. That will let you find who and where you should be now."

"Thanks," I said. "Let me know if you hear anything about the Chosen. I'll do the same for you."

She just waved over her shoulder as she left.

She even paid for the drinks.

I sat quietly contemplating what she had said. Eventually I checked the time on my phone. I figured it was late enough for the two biker bars to be as crowded as they would likely get on a Thursday night.

Using my phone to guide me, I flew to the Carsonville. It was an old hotel from the late nineteenth century, according to the carved text on the stonework. It was probably once a nice place, but had gone downhill, much like the neighborhood around it. Now there were broken and boarded up windows on the top floors. The first floor at least had been converted into a bar. The street outside was crowded with motorcycles and there was a small crowd of people sitting on the bikes and the stairs of the building, smoking and drinking.

I did a quick search to find an empty alley nearby. My new senses made it easy to find living organisms, even if they were covered or sheltered. Finding an empty space, I landed and changed form. I based my new appearance after a combination of Empire thugs I had seen in Brockton Bay and my clothing on some of the bickers on the street outside the bar. I did not want to represent I was in a specific gang. Someone might realize they did not recognize me. But I did want to fit in. I took a last look form the inside to lock down the form for future use. Six-foot two white male with obvious muscles. Shaved head and braided dirty blond beard. A plethora of tattoos, many of white power symbols. Finally, denim jeans, leather boots, and a plain back sleeveless t-shirt. I wanted to put something on it but decided any symbol or logo might be making a statement without realizing what it meant.

I got several looks as I walked past the block-long row of parked bikes. I made sure not to touch, or even look at them. Four guys in colors of some sort scrutinized as I approached the door. After they finished their inspection, the other three looked to the one closest to the door. He nodded and they let me pass.

Inside was quieter than I expected. There was music but it was not blasting. People could talk to each other without screaming. The smell was pungent, a mix of human odors, motor oil, and leather overlain with a patina of tobacco, alcohol, marijuana, and other less familiar scents. The lighting was subdued. It was bright enough by the bar and the pool tables. But the rest of the place was shadowy with pools of light marking the walkways between sections and tables. There was no band or dance floor.

I bought a beer at the bar, paying cash. I leaned against a wall just outside the area with the pool tables, ostensibly watching the play, but really scanning the whole establishment. I could tune my ears to hear what was being said at each table or booth.

Mostly it was discussions about personal lives, kids, relationships, complaining about work, even some politics. These folk sounded more like my co-workers on the construction site than ravening fascists.

I made sure to buy another beer after about forty minutes. After my second beer I hit the toilet. It was quite the experience. I was glad I could kill my nose from the inside. There was one guy in the restroom that looked like he wanted to test me. He turned from the urinal as I walked in the door and bumped me. I could tell it was deliberate. He started to get in my face. But I stared him down from my three inch height advantage and he left, without even washing his hands. I hoped he was not kitchen or bar staff.

After a taking an empty seat and listening for a while, I did catch several mentions of the Chosen and their activity. The tone was, in general, favorable. Though there were some that resented Americans coming North and thinking they could just take over. Most seemed to be hoping Victor's message about recruiting was serious.

These were the conversations I started paying attention to. As the night wore on, they started getting louder. I decided to try to infiltrate one of the conversations, one that had grown beyond the table where it had started and had involved people from several table around. I moved towards it and waited for an opportunity to insert myself.

"… and put them all in their place. Am I right!" Yelled a drunken skinhead.

I joined in the chorus of "Fuck yeah!'s"

Three more time the speaker invoked the crowd. I made sure to join in on the responses.

Then someone asked the question I had been hoping for all night.

"But how do we fucking join them? It's not like they left a fucking number."

"Fuck yeah?"

"You really interested?" a quiet voice queried from the back.

Eyes turned towards the figure in the shadows. I could see he was a skinhead like so many in the place, myself included. But a black and red E88 was tattooed over his right ear and his shirt proudly bore the wolf's head of the Chosen. He had not been there before, but there were at least three back entrances to the bar. I had stopped watching them when I joined the chorus.

"Fuck Yeah!"

He kept his voice quiet, so everyone strained to hear. "You might wanna show up at the Citadel Saturday Midnight. I hear there's gonna be a real blowout."

He managed to disappear during the riot of "Fuck Yeah!'s" that followed.

As I strolled out the front door, I smiled to myself.

I think that is what they call a fucking lead.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

August 25, 2011

Five hours spent at Tubby's Friday night had produced confirmation of the Saturday night gathering. Saturday morning, I contacted Lumen to discuss what to do next. Soon afterwards I found myself at the CTF office with the Grant, Challenger, Grumman and the local hero.

Lumen started the discussion. "Impact has brought news of a Chosen recruitment rally tonight. I have independent confirmation from my own sources. I think the lead is solid."

"Midnight tonight at the Citadel. The Chosen seem to be spreading the word to likely prospective members." I added. "No idea how many might show up."

"We think there are twelve to twenty non-powered members traveling with the eight Chosen capes," Sergeant Gant offered.

"They are strongly connected with the Herren Clan, so they could likely bring in a much larger number given time," Challenger pointed out. "It behooves us to stop then now before they gain any more traction in the area."

"My men will be there," Grant said. "I can even call in the other SWAT teams. But there's honestly not much we can do against the capes. Is there any chance you can call in more help from the Protectorate?"

"I'll try," Challenger replied. "But I think we need to make our plans with the assumption it will just be us. Lumen, I'd like to take tactical command. No disparagement intended, but you are a solo hero and not used to leading teams."

The two women locked eyes again. I was beginning to wonder if there was some sort of history between them.

"Fine," Lumen finally agreed. "But you'd better have a great plan. Four against eight are crappy odds."

"Three against eight," The Protectorate hero snapped back. "While I appreciate Impact's information and enthusiasm, he's too inexperienced to take into such a volatile situation." She turned to me. "Thank you for your report. We'll take it from here."

"What?" I was stunned. "But …"

"You're an unknown factor." She cut me off. "If you had already undergone testing and training we might be able to work you into our plans, but as is, you'd be a liability. Contact the PRT and we can see how we can work together in the future."

"He took out Stormtiger on his own. Got Shout too." Lumen argued.

"With odds like these we have to know what every team member can do _and_ trust them to do it. I'm sorry, Impact. You're out. Sergeant …"

"Thank you, Sergeant," I said stiffly. "I can see myself out."

As I turned towards the door Lumen called softly, "Catch you later, kid."

I nodded as I left the room. Once outside the building I launched myself skyward.

_Just like the fucking PRT! "Can't do this, don't do that, wait 'til you're older!"_

_If they do not want me here, I can just go elsewhere. _

_Even Lumen said … wait!_

I realized Lumen had not agreed with Challenger. Her last comment might even mean she wanted me to show up tonight. I do not know if that was why she said that, but I was going to be there whether Challenger wanted me or not.

I landed near Zeek's flat and hurried to get to my laptop. I had research to do!

PHO and other websites provided a breakdown on the Chosen's membership and powers.

Menja was their leader, and I thought having a woman leader was awfully progressive of the Nazis. She could grow to thirty plus feet tall, with proportional increase in strength and durability. Some sources claimed she could shrink incoming attacks proportional to her growth. Whether that was limited to physical attacks or even physical projectiles was hotly debated. She wore Hollywood's version of sexy Norse armor and fought with a spear and shield.

Cricket was a former cage fighter who fought with twin kama and had enhanced reflexes along with minor acoustic powers. She usually partnered with Stormtiger, another former cage fighter. Othala, who could give a single other individual a single superpower - regeneration, invulnerability, or super strength being the most common. She was partnered with Victor, a thinker/skill thief. I had managed to take them down when I faced them during my solo career. Somehow, they were back on the street the next day.

Rune was a touch telekinetic, but not like me. Once she touched an object, she could control it at a distance. Reports had her managing multiple objects, some of which weighted in excess of a ton. She flew by riding large objects under her control. She was just a kid, probably younger than my original form.

Lastly were two new members, Niflheim and Muspelheim. Opinion was split on whether they were new triggers after the various catastrophes that hit Brockton Bay, or if they were imports, possibly from Gesellschaft, the supposed godfather of all neo-Nazi organization, based in Europe somewhere. They had matched powers of ice and fire respectively. It was rumored that if they touched, they could produce other effects.

For thoroughness I looked up Challenger, a low-level brute that absorbed kinetic energy to make her faster, up to a point. Grumman was a two-setting hero. He could either fly fast, while being maneuverable and durable or he could be immobile and blast away with an innate autocannon. Lumen's light blast could either stun or blind individuals or groups. Other than that, she was just a kickass martial artist and investigator.

I thought either Challenger or Lumen could take both Cricket and Stormtiger. Grumman should have no problem with Rune. Anyone could take Victor and Othala. They were significantly more effective against normal opponents. Menja and the newbies were my biggest worry. I was really interested in fighting Menja. At anything approaching her full growth I could attack with my combined strength without risking undue injury to her. I was also highly resistant to heat and cold, so felt I might be the best person to fight the two unknowns.

But without knowing Challenger's plan I had to either play a reactive role, waiting on the other heroes to attack and act as a surprise reinforcement. Or I could be proactive and start with my own attacks. While this might spoil Challenger's plans, I might be able to reduce the Chosen's numbers quickly enough to allow the other heroes to improvise their way to victory.

I decide to play it by ear.

It was after nine when I changed into my costume and took position high above the Citadel. This was an old British star shaped fort that became the center of the City. It was a popular tourist attraction and an important historical site. All I could hope is that it would not get damaged too badly during the fight.

I hovered several hundred yards up. I had adjusted my eyes to be raptor keen and able to drag in light from every source. As I waited for my moment, I could feel excitement and anxiety waring in me. When I was in the Wards, I had never looked forward to combat, unless it was under controlled conditions for testing purposes. Now I was having to stop myself from charging in like Glory Girl. It was not a comfortable feeling. But I knew I was here because this battle was necessary.

Crowds of people had already started gathering around the exterior walls. The gates were locked. I could see that Fenrir's Chosen had already taken the fortress. The staff, both uniformed and civilian, were tied together and staged against an interior wall. Several of the Chosen's wolf pack were guarding them with assault weapons.

It was night out, but the fortress was brightly lit. It looked like the Nazis were building a little stage in front of the three-story red and white building in the center of the massive courtyard. I assumed the building was some sort of old barracks. The gang had a PA system set up and were testing it playing Germanic sounding marches. I could see all eight of the capes and I estimated there were forty or fifty of their crew. _So much for CTF estimates_, I thought.

Menja, Victor, and Othala were onstage conferring with several of the non-powered skinheads. The valkyrie was already ten or twelve feet tall. Rune and Cricket were riding a caisson in the air circling the walls surrounded by a small ring of debris. Stormtiger was bouncing around from gate to gate and Niflheim and Muspelheim were stationed near what I assumed was the main entrance. At least that was where the growing crowd of locals was waiting to be let in.

The newest powered members of the Chosen moved towards the double doors.

_This is it!_ I thought. _I should attack before they let more people in. Avoid them taking more hostages. _

Apparently, I was not the only one who thought so. Before I could move Grumman came flying in from the south. Challenger and Lumen were dangling from some sort of harness he wore over his shoulders. All three had rapid-fire grenade launchers shooting out shells of containment foam.

Challenger concentrated on covering the tied-up civilians in foam. I knew this was PRT SOP. The foam acted as a protective barrier for hostages and bystanders. Grumman concentrated his fire on the stage, catching Victor and Othala, as well as several gang members. Menja managed to bat away the shells near her with her shield. Lumen aimed for Rune and Cricket, but the telekinetic succeeded in interposing some debris, setting off the grenades prematurely.

While surprised, most of the E88 capes were experienced fighters and quickly counterattacked. Grumman's speed and maneuverability kept the heroes out of the reach of the Chosen.

Challenger and Lumen pulled ripcords as their partner made a low pass. The Protectorate hero stuck the landing, absorbing the impact. I knew her power converted kinetic damage into enhanced speed, so I assumed she had meant to do that. Then she pulled out her giant rifle and lined up a shot on Menja, who dodged the sizzling purple beam with grace belying her increasing size.

Lumen rolled out the momentum of her landing, springing to her feet in front of Stormtiger. Her hands strobed brightly, staggering the aerokinetic. He responded with a pair of air claws which she easily avoided. Given how well he was moving I guessed Othala had healed him from our earlier encounter. I was sort of glad. The local hero had to dodge further when Cricket dropped from Rune's platform almost on top of her.

Rune would have joined in the pile on if Grumman had not opened fire on her from the roof of the barracks where he had landed and changed to his artillery configuration. She was the one that had to quickly maneuver for safety.

As I watched from above the fight grew into a full-scale battle. I heard the CTF opening fire from the walls into the non-powered gangbangers, who returned fire enthusiastically. I could no longer stand idly by. The urge to fight became unbearable.

Menja was the biggest target and it looked like Challenger was distracted by Niflheim and Muspelheim's fire and ice attacks. I dove towards the giantess, aiming for her shield. She was twenty feet tall or more by this time.

I slammed into the back of her shield from over her shoulder. When I hit, I used my TK to increase the area of my slam to encompass the entire surface of the metal slab. It seemed to explode away from her arm, tearing the straps she used to hold and maneuver the massive defense. It crashed to the ground with an ear shattering din, almost pulling the giantess with it.

While she was staggering, I circled around to grab onto her spear. I had no idea how her defensive powers would deal with grabs instead of blows, but thought I might have a better chance of disarming her than punching her.

I had not realized how strong the still growing woman was. We struggled over the weapon before I exerted my TK to its fullest and wrenched the haft from her grip. That did nothing to prevent her from swatting me with her open hand, sending me careening into the cobblestone courtyard.

As she reached down to reclaim her spear, Grumman shifted his aim and started pelting her with high caliber shells. She stumbled back, more surprised than injured. But that gave me time to fly out of her reach and throw the rapidly shrinking weapon into the nearby harbor.

"No!" she roared. "That was my sister's you fucking ape!"

She sprang towards me, growing. I dodged, right into a jet of flames coming from the ground. Surprisingly it was Victor, not Muspelheim shooting it. He had managed to get out of the foam and released Othala too. Not wanting to test my forcefield against a direct hit, I jinxed across the sky. I was beginning to realize the disadvantage of being a flyer without a ranged attack.

While I was distracted, Menja reached her full height and snatched me out of the sky. She pulled me towards her. I reached out to touch her armor and secured the whole thing with my TK. Then I flew up, dragging her with me.

"What are you doing?" she bellowed.

"You may be stronger than me, but without leverage you are helpless," I stated.

"I don't need leverage," she argued, then tightened her hold on my torso. "I've got grip strength!"

As her fist clenched, I felt my forcefield straining and my reinforced ribs beginning to complain. As long as I was set to breath more or less normally, there was a hard limit to how sturdy I could make my ribs. They still had to expand and contract with my lungs.

I continued to climb, angling over the harbor. "If you crush me, you'll fall!" I gasped.

"I'll survive."

I tried desperately to think of a way out. There was nothing I could do with my powers. My forcefield faded. I could not concentrate enough to change my respiratory system. She was strangling me.

Then I stopped flying. I made the conscious decision to stop. We fell.

She panicked and let go of me.

I dove for the dark harbor. I wanted to be under the water so I could change to Nemo's water breathing functionality. I would have a significant advantage in this environment.

I waited for her to splash down.

It never happened. After a minute or more I surfaced to find the giantess had disappeared.

I took off, flying for the Citadel.

When I got there the fight was over. A large cloud of steam was dispersing. The CTF and SWAT teams were pouring into the courtyard to secure the gang members. Looking around I saw the heroes had three of the Chosen in containment foam - Cricket, Victor, and Stormtiger. But the rest were gone.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Challenger yelled.

"I thought I was helping." I hoped I did not sound as truculent to her as I did to myself.

"I told you to stay out of this." She stormed up to me as I landed. "This was a Protectorate led mission and you just got in our way. This is on you!"

"What?" I could not believe what she was saying.

"If you'd stayed out, we would've taken them all."

"That is not how it looked to me." I responded.

"What happened out there?" Lumen asked.

"I carried her over the harbor, but she made me drop her. I ended up in the water. When I came up, she was gone."

"It was Rune," the local hero informed me. "She must have marked all of their costumes before the fight. When the elementals created a steam cloud, she pulled most of her team out, flying after you. She must have caught Menja before she fell into the water."

"Exactly!" Challenger was in my face, poking super strong finger into my chest, not that I could feel it through my field. "You basically led their getaway."

When she realized I was not being pounded by her poking, she stepped back and glared at me. "I think it may be time to look more closely into your relationship with these criminals. Sergeant!"

"You think I am working with them? Did you notice I'm black! This is ridiculous."

Sergeant Grant jogged up. I tensed, ready to take them all on if they dared try to take me in.

_What the fuck!_ I though, both because of Challenger's duplicity and my instinctive over-reaction. The Chosen had not been enough. I was raring to fight them all.

Seeing the look of anticipation, almost hunger, on Challenger's face, I decide I did not want to deal with this and fled.

"Grumman!" Challenger shouted. He took off after me. I flew as fast as I could, but he was faster.

He almost caught me, but I managed to slip under water before he closed completely. That way I did not have to either fight him or let him take me in. I'm not sure why I ran. I have no relationship with the Chosen. But it is almost impossible to prove a negative.

I guess it is time to leave town, maybe even the country.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

September 5, 2011

I ended up in Portland, Maine.

I had taken time as Zeek to work out the pay period and formally quit my job before leaving Halifax. I made sure to pick up a scuba backpack to carry my gear. I decided to travel underwater again as I could more easily avoid border checkpoints and the questions they might ask.

Just before I surfaced in Portland, I realized I would need stamps in Micah's passport if I was ever to try to pass as legal in the US. So, I went back to St. John, New Brunswick and caught a bus to Portland wearing Micah's face. I showed my passport at the Saint Stephen border crossing, hoping I had gotten what I paid for from Jackie. There was no problem as the bogus document was scanned by the Border Patrol. Just like that Micah Burton was legally in the US.

Along the way to Portland I had given a lot of thought to what I wanted to do. My adventure in Halifax made me doubt both my desire and ability to be a hero. I was disgusted by the almost junkie-like need I had felt for combat. I _had _to join in the fight, whether it was the best course of action or not.

My reaction to Challenger was also out of proportion. Fight or flight, with flight being the far weaker impulse, although I had managed to choose it over the urgings of whatever was goading me towards a violent clash. I decided I should keep clear of heroics while I tested the nature and limits of this power-induced drive to conflict.

In Portland I found another youth hostel and started looking for work. While I was in the US legally, I did not have a work permit so the jobs I was seeking were the sort that did not look too closely at proper documentation. Not surprisingly I found myself washing dishes in the kitchen of Mama Fay's, a restaurant in a poor section of the city.

"… and I don't want any trouble in my place." The owner of the small diner was giving me my orientation tour. Janel Timmons was a middle-aged, though still attractive, black woman with a face that seemed to smile and scowl with equal alacrity. She wore her hair short and upswept, with a slight red tint. I noticed her nails were short, though brightly lacquered. I assumed this meant she still worked with her hands. She stopped and forced eye contact. "Especially no gang trouble. I'm not asking if you're connected or running or anything. I will not have that sort of trouble here. You understand?"

"Yes Ma'am," I replied solemnly, wondering what sorts of gangs they had in Portland. Odd fact I had learned at the PRT ENE, Maine is the only state in the US with no acknowledged permanent paranormal presence. While capes passed through, none were known to live here. That meant that the gangs, whoever they were, had no cape leadership or backup. "I just arrived in town, I have no dealings with any gangs here."

"See that you don't, or you're out."

I just nodded my acknowledgement.

"You'll be on night shift, 5pm-2am. We close at midnight, but you'll stay for clean-up and prep for morning. You've never worked in a restaurant before, right?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, the work is hard, fast, and dirty. You'll either handle it or you'll quit. Probably in a week or less. Dale is the night cook so you'll work under him for clean-up. Duke has the lunch and dinner shift so you'll be under him when you get in. You may work under them, but I'm the boss. Remember that. I'll have my eye on you. Any questions?"

"Should I start tonight?" I asked. Better to show enthusiasm.

"Tomorrow. You should get lots of sleep tonight. You'll need to stay awake the whole shift. It doesn't get easier just cause it's late."

"Thank you."

She nodded and turned away. It was 10 a.m. and there were only a handful of customers in the restaurant. From the way the older diners were chatting with the waitresses I assumed they were regulars. Ms. Timmons went over to join in the conversation, laying her hand on the shoulder of one of the older men.

"Serves those dogs right that someone shows them what it feels like to get their stuff taken," complained one of the older men.

"But you know how the dogs' troubles usually become the whole neighborhood's troubles," reposted another man.

"Stanley, you know JT's right about that." Ms. Timmons joined in. "No trouble is good trouble."

Walking out of the diner, the bell ringing behind me, I thought some things may be universal, powers or no powers. Still I was determined to stay out it. To avoid conflict, especially violent conflict, until I had a better idea what was driving me. Having read up on schizophrenia after my diagnosis, I was particularly disturbed by the idea of something in my head causing irrational urges or behaviors. Especially as I had a physical anomaly in my brain.

It was a pleasant day, sunny and warm, but with a light breeze. Having nothing better to do, I decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood. Now that I had a job, I wanted to find a nearby apartment or room. At first I thought I would need a place to myself to allow me to experiment with my powers. But I was going to try to live without powers or at least not be an active cape, so I did not need that privacy.

I found a few places, but calling told me the asking rent was higher than I could afford as a dishwasher. I might need a second job, or some other source of income. I thought about salvaging underwater. I'd had some success in Halifax with that. But that was using my powers. Same thing with construction, which certainly paid better. And I was not here as Zeek.

I pushed back against any thoughts of attacking the gangs for their money.

_I will keep an ear out and see what comes along. _

As I walked I noticed I was getting looks from many of the people I passed. The streets were not crowded, nor were they empty. The variety of pedestrians showed this was a multi-ethnic neighborhood. I was dressed in khakis, a light green button-down, and a dark green tie. They were extruded, as I had no time for shopping. This was somewhat more formal than most of the people on the streets. For some reason it was catching the eye of the women more than the men. A few even smiled at me. I smiled back tentatively, but hurried on.

By lunch time I had wandered to the downtown business district. I stopped at a park where a number of workers were out walking or eating. Spotting an empty bench in the sun I sat and leaned back, my face towards the sun. I closed my eyes and felt the chlorophyll in my shirt and tie absorbing sunlight and converting it to carbohydrates. Not as filling as a sandwich, but it was enough to keep me going.

I was startled out of my reverie when someone sat down next to me. I opened my eyes to see a pretty young black woman in a grey pantsuit with a purple blouse. She smiled and pulled out a book.

"Some days it is just too nice to sit in the office," she offered.

"It is a lovely day," I replied, uncertain why she was sitting here, much less talking with me. I looked around. There was an empty bench not thirty feet away, though it was slightly shaded under nearby trees.

"I know," she replied turning towards me slightly. "And we get so few of them. It'll be worse as winter comes."

"Right." I was very uncomfortable. I had never had an adult just sit down and start talking to me. Standing, I offered a slight smile and walked away.

I let out a small shudder as I moved through the park. _What had that been about?_

Since I started high school I had been increasingly anxious around new people and disconnected from my old friends and family. Dr. Cohen had said it was symptomatic of my changing brain chemistry. I had done some experiments and found that the anxiety was near constant when dealing with new people. I had learned to ignore the anxiety or subsume it in determination when necessary, like when meeting the Wards.

This reaction was something different. I mean there was definitely an element of the old social anxiety, but I felt an unfamiliar endocrine reaction. Looking more closely I discovered some unusual hormones in my system. I decided to return to my hostel in case this was the beginning of some sort of systemic failure.

By the time I had returned to my temporary lodgings I discovered the imbalance had been restored to normality. I grabbed a small pizza and ate it in private while I contemplated what might have caused this episode. I had made no determination but decided to monitor my hormonal reactions to new people to see if I could develop a hypothesis over the next few days.

I forced myself to stay awake until 3 a.m. to get myself on the new sleep schedule. It turned out to be unnecessary. My body apparently required significantly less sleep than it had before. I woke at 6 a.m. with no sign of fatigue. I had dreamed almost constantly during that time but could not recall them on awakening. If this pattern held after a few night shifts I might be able to look for day shift work as well.

Mama Fay's was crowded when I went in that evening. One of the waitresses, Teneisha according to her badge, was standing at the cash register. "Just take a seat anywhere. You expecting company?" she asked.

"Uh …" I stammered. Definite limbic anxiety response. "I - I'm Micah, the new dishwasher."

"The new dish I'd say." This was from a middle-aged Hispanic woman seated at the counter. She was looking me up and down. I was wearing a black t-shits and jeans, what I had told was the kitchen uniform. She turned to Ms. Timmons, who was behind the counter. "He looks like a buff Denzel Washington, back in his early movies."

"Not Denzel, a young Djimon Hounsou I'd say, with more hair." This was from Teneisha. She was also giving me an odd look. I was startled because they had named two of the actors I had used as models for Micah's appearance, along with Mario Van Peebles and Blair Underwood. My parents were fans of 1980-90's movies and television. I had selected the older actors so as to avoid recognition.

"Yummy is all I got to say." This from another waitress, Sydelle. She was much younger than the others and when she ran her fingers across my chest I felt the odd endocrine reaction. It was significantly different from the limbic reaction to Teneisha.

"Down girls," Ms. Timmons ordered, slapping the seated customer's arm. "I don't need a sexual harassment suit on his first day. Micah, you just go back to the kitchen. Next time you can come in the kitchen door. Avoid these piranha. Tristan!" she called out.

A young man in black with a white apron came through a door. "Mom?"

"This is Micah, the new dishwasher. Take him back, show him around, and then introduce him to Duke. He's working closeout to night. Micah, this is my son Tristan. He's only the assistant cook so don't let him pull anything on you. Duke or Dale are in charge back there."

"Jesus Mom. I don't do that shi …"

"You better watch your language in front of customers or you'll be doing the dishes and Micah can learn to cook." Her voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the authority.

"Yes ma'am," he snapped then turned on his heel. He gestured for me to follow him and lead me back through the kitchen door.

"Sorry about that?" I offered to his tense silence.

"No man. It's alright." He stopped and rubbed his face. "I know better than to swear in front of her. I've been off for a week, hanging with my friends, and forgot myself. Anyway, let me show you around. These are the lockers …"

The night, and the rest of the week, was both boring and educational. I learned how to operate the industrial washers and dryers, how to stack and prep the dishes and pans for later use, and how to clean a commercial kitchen to code. But I had limited interaction with the rest of the kitchen staff once I got the basics of the job down.

It was odd that Tristan and the night waitresses would seek me out during breaks. I guess they were just curious about the new guy.

"Where're you from?" Alexis, the third night waitress asked. She was a short Afro-Asian girl with wild curly hair and a pretty face. I wondered if Ms. Timmons had selected her waitresses in part for their looks. "You got a bit of an accent."

"I'm from Newfoundland," I replied. I had shaped my mouth to try to produce an accent similar to a mixture of the Newfies and Inuits I had met in Halifax.

That stopped the conversation for a moment, then Sydelle put her hand on my forearm. "I'm so sorry."

"Man, that's harsh." Tristan said. "Ah … is that why you're here?"

"Sort of. I've been stuck in an Inuit village for several years. After getting out, I decided to head south."

"I wouldn't mind getting out of here, heading south." Tristan said.

"No way you are gonna leave me," Alexis said, wrapping an arm around his waist. "No way your mama's gonna let you leave."

"Truesay…" he muttered. He planted a kiss on Alexis' head.

Sydelle patted my arm again and smiled up at me. Another endocrine reaction.

"Time to get back to work," I said and went back to washing the dishes.

# # # # #

September 15, 2011

"So Larissa said her brother got two places on his washer crew. He'd be willing to take both of us." De'John's voice was excited.

He had come by to meet Tristan and Seth, the other assistant cook, at the end of their shift. I was on a break and Tristan had called me over to join them. Tristan was like that. He was friendly and was always trying to pull me into his group. I found him surprisingly easy to talk with.

Seth was another in Tristan's orbit. A nice, quiet guy in his early twenties. He seemed willing to allow Tristan to pull me into their social circle without taking too much trouble to impose himself on me.

De'John was Tristan's best buddy. About the same age as Tristan, 20 or 21, he did not work at Mama Fay's. I was not sure where or even if her worked. In the short time I had known him, it seemed he always had a new idea for a business or plan to make it rich. And he was always looking to drag Tristan into it.

This time it was washing windows on high rises. There were not a lot of high rises in Portland, but apparently the two business that offered window services made great money. "Once we know the business we set ourselves in competition and _Bam!_ we're rolling in the dough."

"Not for me, DJ," Tristan said. "You know I hate heights."

"Damn, boy! You gonna let that stop you?"

"You say the washing happens in the mornings mostly?" I asked.

"Yeah," De'John confirmed. "You interested?"

"I could be. I need the money."

"Let me talk to Larissa's brother, Terry Sanchez. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Sounds good," I replied.

"You wanna work morning and nights?" Tristan sounded concerned.

"I don't need much sleep." I assured him. "And I can nap in the afternoon."

"Just don't fuck yourself up for money. It ain't worth it."

I waved as they took off for their evening plans. I had more dishes to do.

It turned out that Terry did have space on his crew. And he was not too worried about proper paperwork so my visa status was no impediment. It also explained why he paid cash at the end of every shift. I liked the work. I had no fear of heights. De'John did not like the work and bailed after two days, leaving us shorthanded. After a week I was often alone on the scaffold. By myself, I was able to subtly use my TK to help speed up the cleaning. The extra money allowed me to finally find a small garret to call my own.

Using my powers was a relief. I had been feeling an increasing pressure to do something with them. This urge was starting to manifest in inappropriate aggression at work. I started to meditate, a technique my mother had urged on my when my behavior started changing. It helped. I was able to examine the neurochemical expression of this aggression and tweak it to be more manageable. The origin of these odd urges seemed to be in my new sub-brain. In a deep meditative state it seemed like I was almost able to communicate with the neural anomaly. When interacting with people I was very careful not to act on any aggression that might manifest.

One night after getting off shift I was walking home and heard a gunshot in the distance. I ran towards it automatically. As I turned the corner of an alley I saw several men scuffling in a parking lot. Most wore the gold and black colors of the MSD, the Mason Street Dawgs, a gang that had controlled the neighborhood and several others nearby for decades. I had heard a fair bit about them from De'John and Tristan. They had former friends who had joined up. DJ's older brother was even supposed to be a member.

The Dawgs seemed to be getting their tails whipped by a group of soldiers. They reminded me of some of the mercenaries the PRT had records on in Brockton Bay, well-armed and professionally trained. In this case they were using controlled bursts from military style assault weapons to force the gangbangers to retreat into the dark alleys.

Three of them were running towards me. I almost changed into my costume so I could stop them. A quick check showed that there were no civilians around. The buildings were businesses that were empty at this time of the night. No one would see me.

Then I remembered that I was not going to be a cape any more. At least not until I got a better handle on my sub-brain. I was a civilian. So I acted like one and fled the scene. I heard more gunfire throughout the night. It was almost impossible to get to sleep.

The next afternoon when I got to work, everyone was upset.

Tristan was sobbing in his mother's arms. Duke, a large black man with short cropped greying hair and muscular arms that gave contrasted with his big belly, was smashing pots and pans together in the kitchen. Seth was just standing near the lockers, tears on his cheeks. Teneisha was holding Alexis. Sydelle rushed at me as I came in. Even the customers were upset.

"What happened?" I asked, catching the young waitress and holding her awkwardly.

"De'John got killed in a drive by last night." Ms. Timmons said.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

September 18, 2011

Portland was home to an unusually large number of funerals that weekend. De'John was only one of dozens of people that were killed in the first night of the gang war. Most were gang members. The MSD was decimated, as were the local Cosa Nostra and the Familia. Local media were saying a new criminal organization calling themselves the Cadre were spreading out of Brockton Bay into Portland. They were reported to be highly trained operatives that used military and tinkertech weapons.

_Whoever they were, they had come to my new town and killed my new friend._ _What was I going to do about it?_

I had a lot of time to ponder as I worked the afternoon shift at Mama Fay's I was one of the few staff members that was not at the funeral. I had only known DJ a few weeks. Tristan and Seth had known him all their lives. Ms. Timmons was there to support both her son and DJ's mother. Teneisha was the senior most staff member at the restaurant that afternoon. She was the one that greeted the two men that came in wearing fatigue pants and that sort of military sweater with the shoulder patches that you see in old war movies.

"May we speak to Janel Timmons, please?" I heard through the window to the kitchen. I was acting as assistant cook to Dale. I looked up from cutting tomatoes to see the two strangers. The one speaking was the older of the two, a well-built Hispanic man in his thirties or forties. He was followed by a much larger black man who looked to be in his late twenties. Neither were obviously armed, but I suspected they were carrying something beneath the hem of their sweaters.

Teneisha looked them over then answered, her voice neutral. "She's not in this afternoon. We're closing early today. She should be back tomorrow."

"I see," he said. "Thank you. We'll be back to talk with her."

The larger companion or bodyguard was looking at everyone in the restaurant. He paid particular attention to me and Dale, the only two youngish men in the mostly empty place. With a motion from the older man, the two left.

"Shit …" Dale said. "That don't look good."

"The new boys wanting to do business," the waitress agreed. "Tobias ain't gonna like that, not one bit."

"And we don't need to be getting caught in the middle of this kind of shit," the cook complained.

"Who's Tobias?" I asked.

"He's the Big Dawg, leader of the fucking MSD," Teneisha sneered. "A piece of advice for free. Don't ever let him catch you calling him Toby. He's cut people for that. You ever meet him, best you remember to call him Mr. Armand."

"Looks like he has too much trouble right now to worry the little shit," Dale said.

The shift supervisor noticed the customers murmuring at the exchange and seemed to remember they were not alone. She rounded on Dale. "You keep a clean tongue in your head, Dale Robinette. We've got customers to feed."

"Yes, ma'am!" He saluted and got back to work. I followed his example.

Dale and I were doing the cleanup and prep after we closed early. I decided to try to find out more about what was going on. "Dale?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been wondering … about these Mason Street Dawgs. I know they're a gang. And I understand there is some sort of trouble with this new Cadre. But who are the MSD and …"

"Whoa there," he said, looking up from stocking the refrigerator. He regarded me seriously. Dale was a dark-skinned black man, few years older than my apparent age. He had been a cook in the Navy before getting out. He'd been working at Fay's for the couple of years since then. He was an easy going guy that smelled occasionally of weed. I'd seldom seen him so solemn.

"You need to be careful asking about this shit. I know you're new to town and all, but damn. Getting too curious about the Dawgs ain't healthy."

"We didn't really have gangs in the village. So I don't know much about them," I lied.

"The Dawgs been around since the 50's or 60's. Generations, y'know? They run all the drugs, whores, and protection in the East Deering/Falmouth area. Other shit too, but that's most of their money. Tobias took over when his old man went to jail a few years ago. I went to school with him, Tobias, not his dad. Always been a scary motherfucker."

"Ok."

"It looks like this new gang's trying to muscle in on not only the Dawgs but the Italians and Mexicans too. They got a lot of balls to hit everyone at once. But after Friday, I ain't sure they don't have the muscle to do it."

"Even if they don't, lots of people are getting hurt while they fight it out," I complained.

"That's the way it always is. Gang violence always spills out to the regular folk. It's best you stay down and keep out of it. You're prime recruiting material, young and dumb, like Tristan and Seth. Times like these the MSD needs plenty of new hands. But I tell you like I tell the other fools. Stay out of it. You'll live longer."

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. "But where should I stay away from? I don't want to stumble in to gang central when I'm looking for a burger or a beer." I figured this had worked for me in Halifax. It might work again. I needed to find out more about the gangs …

_No!_ I thought to myself as I scrapped the griddle. _I am not a hero anymore. I will not let my power drive me to battle for its own purpose. I'm just a guy. Just a regular guy._

"You stay away from anyplace you see someone wearing blue and greed. Those the MSD colors. I'd tell you to especially stay away from Old Town Pub, but it got blown up Friday night. Don't know where they are hanging now."

Tuesday morning I was on the roof of a building coiling the ropes for the roof roller. Terry was hanging in a boson chair finishing up the last windows. It was almost lunch time and we were packing up for the day. As we were continuing on the same building the next day we simply chained the roller to a railing and packed the ropes and other gear in a lockbox.

I heard the roller engage as Terry started to come up. I looked over the edge of the roof to make sure he did not get tangled when a rocket streaked from a building across the way, impacting a window to the right of my boss.

It exploded, shaking the whole structure.

The blast knocked Terry out of the chair. He fell backwards and flailed around, grasping desperately at the nearby ropes. He was able to slow himself momentarily before his wet hand slipped.

I grabbed the top of the rope and whipped it towards him. Using my TK I caused the line to entangle his ankle, jerking him to a stop. As he swung against the building, I engaged the roller to bring him up. I kept hold of the rope and made sure it stayed tight around his boot.

"Hey, are you ok?" I asked as I pulled him over the railing.

"Wha' the fuck!" he cried out as he glommed onto me. He was shaking.

"Let me see," I laid him on the roof and quickly checked him over. I found a few cuts and scrapes, but no major injuries. He was talking very loudly, so I assumed his ears were damaged, though I saw no blood. "Just lie here, man. I'll call an ambulance."

I could hear screams from inside and smoke was beginning to rise out of the broken window. I looked back to where the rocket had originated and saw four men in combat gear going through the roof access of the shorter building from which they had fired.

_Cadre! _

I was furious. But I held my anger and forced it down. I had to help Terry and I was not going to give into irrational urges. I pulled my phone and called 911. As I suspected there had been a number of calls already. I let them know we were on the roof.

"Hello, my name is Special Agent Elkins, FBI. This is Detective Ashworth, PPD." The woman introduced herself and her partner. She was short, red-haired, and attractive. He was tall, brown, bulky, with a shaved head and a black goatee. Both were dressed in suits. They had found me sitting in a closed-off Starbucks in the first floor of the building. That was where the police had placed the witnesses after the fire department had deemed it safe. Terry had been sent to the hospital in the third wave of ambulances. I had been waiting almost four hours and was beginning to grow concerned I would be late for my shift at Mama Fay's. "We're with the Safe Streets Task Force."

"Hi. I'm Micah Barton." I was not happy to be dealing with the Feds. I really hoped my ID held up. Though I could think of no reason Micah would be in the FBI databases. Still I was working the window washing job without a visa.

"I understand you were on the roof when the attack occurred," Agent Elkins asked. "Can you tell me exactly what you saw?"

"I was looking down at Terry, my boss, when the missile or whatever hit the building. It went into a window near enough to him that when it exploded it knocked him out of his harness and he almost fell. Luckily he managed to get tangled in the ropes. That saved him. After I got him pulled up to roof I looked out at that building," I pointed to the edifice across the street. "… and saw four guys in military gear leaving the roof through the door."

"Can you describe them? What do you mean by military gear?" Detective Ashworth asked.

"Camo pants and jackets. Body armor. Dark glasses and helmets. Assault weapons. A harness with other stuff." I counted off on my fingers. "They looked like the soldiers I've seen in movies and on the news. Only their gear was mottled greys rather than greens or browns."

"And the men themselves? What did they look like?" the FBI agent asked.

"I'm afraid I did not get much more detail than that," I offered. "They were facing away for the most part. And they were out of sight pretty quickly. I think there was at least two white guys and at least one black guy. But I'm not certain. The gear made them all look big, so I have no clue on their actual size. I did not notice anyone having to duck to go through the door."

"Did you see any insignia or common markings?"

"Nothing other than the camo. They all looked the same."

"Can you think of anything else that might help us identify them? Did you see any odd vehicles on the road for instance?"

"No. I was either on the roof or in the chair all morning. I don't look down much, if I can help it," I lied. I had no problem with the height, except for outing myself if I should fly away from a fall.

"Alright," Agent Elkins said. "Here's my card. Please contact me if you can remember anything."

"Do you have any idea why they did it? Who they were targeting?" I asked. "If it was Terry, he needs to know."

"We don't think Mister …" She looked at her notes. "Sanchez was the target. We can't say anything more at this time."

"Yeah, ok. Thanks." I mumbled. Watching as they walked away, it was obvious they knew who the shooters were and who they had been targeting. It must be Cadre, unless there was a second military-themed gang operating in Portland. I figured someone in the office Terry had had the ill-luck to be next to was somehow related to the local gangs.

This was spilling all over the place. Trying to avoid letting my pseudo-brain push me into conflict was not sufficient reason to let this madness go on unchecked. But this sort of street level crime fighting was not really Impact's specialty. He was more about the big battles with supervillains and rescuing kittens from trees.

I needed another identity.

Remembering the way I had used the rope to catch Terry reminded me of the tentacle and whip-based characters I had looked up in the library in Halifax. That sort of theme and power set could work for a back alley gangbuster.

With that in mind I headed to a nearby hardware store. I wanted to look at chains. Browsing I found some 3/16" Grade 30 chain that was tested up to 1000lbs. A hundred feet spool was $150. More than I wanted to spend, but I could afford it. I tried a very subtle test where I held one end of a three foot length and was able to wiggle the end link. It worked.

I bought the least shiny chain I could find and left it in my garret when I went in for my evening shift. After work I spent some time breaking the chain into two thirty-foot sections and ten three-foot sections. Taking the bundle to the woods north of town, I found I could manipulate the long chains easily, causing them to strike or entangle targets as long as I was holding onto one end. I practiced throwing the smaller chains and using them to bind like rope. I thought I could make this work

On the way back I started designing the identity. The Judge was Bashar Baroudi, an Egyptian teen who had lost family to the gangs in Detroit, causing him to trigger. My real mother was from Cairo, and she always said I spoke Arabic with an Egyptian accent. When the authorities could not prosecute the gang, Bashar became the Judge to sentence them himself. He has been on the run since.

I selected a size closer to my original Bryan Carpenter identity's, almost 5'10" and around 230lbs. Short black hair and caramel skin, but darker than my family's. The body was much denser than normal to give him strength and durability, but I was trying to maximize his speed and agility. I also thought I could manage Spider-man's wall crawling and leaping, if not his acrobatics. Lastly, I would allow the Judge to have enhanced senses; night vision, extended hearing, a tracking sense, and electrical and magnetic sensing to detect weapons and devices. This was a power set that was distinctive from any of my others.

I created a costume of black and grey leathers stitched on the outside. This included an almost full face mask that only left my chin and mouth visible. The eyes were white teardrops that I could see out of, but no one could see into. I had chains wrapped around my waist, wrists, and across my chest, all secured by leather straps. Pouches contained a burner phone, and various other tools. As all of the costume, except the chains and tools, was actually my skin. I was in constant contact with the metal hardware. This was not a media friendly look.

I was still not sure how far I wanted to go, even in this new identity. I was basing the personality on Shadow Stalker. But rumor around the Wards was she either killed someone or came very close, maybe more than once. I did not think I was ready for that. On the other hand these Cadre were killing innocents indiscriminately.

I decided I had Agent Elkin's number I would try to call her first. If the cops could not handle the Cadre, I would then see how far I was willing to go.

The Judge's first night out was less than auspicious. I started patrolling after 2 a.m. I was looking for gang graffiti. Hoping it might at least help me understand the territories of the various factions. There were people on the streets, even this late. But I had no way of knowing if any of them were related to one of the gangs.

I found I was able to leap and run on the roofs. I was even able to use my long chins to swing for short distances. But I was not nearly as mobile as I had anticipated. I guess I had gotten used to flying already. On the other hand I was able to slip stealthily though the shadows, once I had secured the chains appropriately.

Shortly before dawn I returned to my garret and took a nap.

The next night was quite different.


End file.
